Oubliette
by Elemental-Analysis
Summary: Lucius has only one goal: to protect his son through the midst of the war. To do so, he exploits Draco's secret weakness...the life of a Mudblood girl. Caught in the crossfire between Light and Dark, between friendship and family feud, Hermione too has only one goal: to survive.
1. Chapter 1

When Hermione first awoke she was blearily aware of a pulsating throb behind her eyes. Forcing them open, she realized that she was not in her tent with Harry and Ron. Panicked, she made the mistake of sitting abruptly upright, provoking a nauseating vertigo that made the room spin alarmingly. Clutching the bed cover beneath her, Hermione waited impatiently for her vision to clear as she assessed her surroundings.

Definitely not her tent.

The room she was in was maybe twelve square meters in total and five meters tall, made entirely of stone. It was nearly twice as long as it was wide, with a toilet and two spigots at the far end. A heavy oaken trapdoor in the ceiling marked the sole entrance and exit to the room. It also served as the room's only light source, with a manhole sized grate in the center allowing scant light to filter in.

Her mind whirring with fright, Hermione steadied her trembling hands against the cot beneath her and stood. She was secondarily alerted to a foreign chiming sound that accompanied her movements. The glint of a steel manacle about her left ankle made her heart thud painfully and she jerked her foot back in reflex, eliciting another soft _chink_ of the metal. Her eyes followed the length of the chain to a heavy bolt in the base of the stone wall. It afforded about three meters in length, the approximate length of the room.

Hermione was trying hard not to cry, and her chest heaved with the effort. Compelling herself to move, she walked to the middle of the room, directly beneath the door, the chains screeching their protest as she dragged them along the floor. Hermione winced at the noise, and peered up at the beam of light coming from the grate. She blinked rapidly as apparent sunlight met her eyes. A shadow flickered over the open grille as a wispy cloud floated breezily past. She was outside, or almost anyway. A cool breeze wafted down to gently greet her face, and she shivered. It was almost too cool to be underground in only her thin purple sweatshirt and jeans.

She reached upwards with her hands, but she knew it was a futile gesture – the door hung far above her fingertips, unreachable. Abandoning the tack, Hermione trudged back to the pallet and dragged it to the center of the room, the deafening clangor of her shackles making her cringe with every step. Like a damn calliope, she thought angrily. She was shaking with anxiety and fury, this alien and oppressive cell setting her on the precipice of hysteria. Standing on her tiptoes up on the bed, she found she was still more than an arm's span away from the ceiling. Cursing, she kicked the bedpost in frustration, and her chain erupted in its dissonant chorus in reply. She sat down on the mattress and made herself take deep breaths.

"Okay Hermione," she said aloud to herself, "Use that brain of yours. Come on."

Hermione frowned in concentration at the manacle. She had been practicing wandless magic with Harry and Ron just last night. She had been showing some aptitude for it for the past week that they'd been practicing, and had managed with moderate success to levitate a leaf. With this meager confidence, she crossed her legs and concentrated hard on the manacle around her ankle, focusing on the tiny keyhole in the band's center.

"Alohamora," she ordered forcefully, twisting her hand widdershins as she would her wand.

She was immediately rewarded with a lightning bolt shock, the hot burning sensation searing up her leg in an angry rejection of her magic. The chain trembled and shook as though furious with her. Hermione was left gasping in pain and surprise, reeling. She rubbed her leg frantically, trying to distract from the residual burn. Her fingers brushed over the manacle, which was solidly still intact. Trembling, she lay herself down and closed her eyes against the scant sunlight that pierced through to her cell.

Why was she here? How did she get here? Who was holding her like this? What would they do to her to get what they wanted? The questions spiraled through her mind, a tornado of imagination wreaking havoc and leaving a throbbing headache in its wake.

Even as she sat recuperating from her failed attempt at a brash escape, she could feel the manacle sapping greedily at her energy, her magic. It was draining, and Hermione found her eyelids heavy as though she hadn't slept in a week. And so Hermione sat curled up in her corner of the bed, ensconced in her stone oubliette, and slept.

* * *

Lucius drummed his fingers against his knee impatiently as he listened to the conclusion of the Death Eater's Gathering. Avery and Jugson were giving satisfactory report on the destruction and takeover of a British muggle town that had of late been producing an odd number of Mudblood infants. Lucius allowed his gaze to drift over to his son, who was staring resolutely at the center of the table, face so pristinely impassive that it made Lucius' blood boil. He knew that look - he had coached, demanded, and sculpted that look for his son. He knew Draco was angry with the Death Eaters, a traitor to the cause, and a coerced participant. Draco hid it well. He should be grateful to have Lucius for a father, or Voldemort would have discovered his feelings and killed him off ages ago. He should be a proud Pureblood, Lucius snarled to himself, ready to pay to price of aristocracy and dominance over the wizarding world. Instead, Draco was just a very good liar. His own son, a Mudblood sympathizer. Lucius' fingers halted their beat and curled into an angry fist. That one stupid Mudblood girl. His nostrils flared at the thought of her.

He glanced up. Jugson and Avery had finished report and were taking their seats.

"Very good. Other updates for me?" Voldemort's harsh voice asked. There was general silence, the sound of people shifting in their seats. But then Snape stood.

"My Lord," he intoned demurely, "I have heard that the Granger girl has disappeared from the trio, should anyone like to take credit. Having taught the three of them, I assure you that Potter will now be at an enormous disadvantage. Dumbledore's Army is quite distraught over the loss."

Snape took his seat again with a bow. Lucius watched Draco's eyes widen just a fraction, the shallow intake of breath.

"Well?" Voldemort's face held an ugly representation of pleasure. "To whom do I owe these thanks?"

Again, silence. Draco's eyes darted about. The Dark Lord raised an eyebrow.

"None shall claim victory?"

When no one spoke up, Voldemort shrugged. "Perhaps we have an ally. Severus, check in with Scabior's crew to see if he can find out more." Snape bowed his head in receipt of this missive. "Dismissed." Voldemort rose, signaling his followers to do the same.

Lucius moved with the sea of black cloaks to the entrance of the meeting hall, keeping Draco's blond head in view. His son was all but running from the room, determinedly taking long strides past the other Death Eaters. Lucius snorted softly. Any more conspicuous and he'd be singled out for sure. Young idiot. Lucius deftly sidestepped Avery and exited the building. He was met with the cool relief of the crisp fall air – Merlin, but that building was warm. A few long strides and he was beside Draco. He seized his son's upper arm, spinning him to face his father. Anger and alarm flashed from Draco's grey eyes. Lucius gripped the boy in a familiar embrace, such that passersby would think it a friendly conversation.

"I have the girl," Lucius hissed into Draco's ear. He felt his son stiffen jerk, and Lucius spoke quickly, tightening his grip. "Should you say anything to anyone, should you even think to disobey the Dark Lord or myself, I will end her life in the most tortuous way imaginable."

He leaned away, taking in Draco's look of horror and anger.

"You thought I wouldn't find out?" Lucius smiled dangerously. "You forget who raised you, boy. Your precious Mudblood will be your downfall."

"Where is she?" Draco croaked hoarsely.

"Not a word," Lucius deflected. "Not a toe out of line. Obey your father and your Lord." He gave Draco a penetrating look. "You know what I am capable of."

Without waiting for a reply, Lucius turned his heel and vanished in a _crack_ of apparition.

The things he did to protect his family.


	2. Chapter 2

Lucius had apparated to Malfoy Manor, landing gracefully in his study next to his desk. Draco's shocked and angry face was still imprinted in his mind. Lucius smiled humorlessly. For your own good, you stupid boy, he thought crossly.

Steadying himself lightly with his cane, he stood with his hand poised over the glass bowl on his desk. Ornamental and frivolous in appearance, it was filled with intricate glass marbles, each hand-crafted and unique. Each with its own secrets. He admired them briefly before withdrawing a red marble flecked with fine gold. The swirls glittered prettily in the ambient light of the sunset behind him. Clasping the trinket gently, he activated the Portkey, the familiar tug at his navel starting his journey to many kilometers away.

After a harsh landing, Lucius regained his bearings and straightened. He tucked the Portkey carefully away in his cloak pocket. He had come to a truly picturesque clearing, surrounded by the fiery oranges and reds of fall. The waning light filtered through the trees, casting long shadows over the field. It was cooler up here, in the mountains. He breathed deeply, taking in his surroundings.

Just meters in front of him lay an intricate barrier charm, tinged with dark magic and permissive to his blood and none other. It was one of his prouder accomplishments, this charm. All but undetectable, unbreakable save by him, and this time around he'd even added a bonus feature to help control his little prisoner when he crossed its threshold.

It was time. Adorning a placid façade, Lucius stepped across the barrier. The scene altered almost imperceptibly, but Lucius knew where to look. Fifty yards northwest, a manhole-sized grate appeared in the ground.

* * *

Hermione awoke next to the feeling of being literally dragged out of bed by her ankles. Scrabbling fruitlessly to find purchase on her bare cot, Hermione found that the length of chain about her ankle was rapidly shortening. Head swimming with panicky post-slumber confusion, she hobbled after the chain. It dragged her to the corner of her cell, effectively pinning her in place with no more than a handful of chain links of freedom to move. She could feel it pulsating hotly about her ankle, greedily draining her energy as it retracted itself. Her vision blackened for a moment as she tried to remain upright. She panted with the effort.

She could scarcely see. Dusk was settling over the sky and precious little light found its way into this room. She squinted up at the grate, and her soft cry of fear coincided with the creak of the door opening.

" _Lumos,_ " she heard a throaty voice utter, and a brilliant white light erupted from up above.

"Who is there?" Hermione cried, voice shaking badly. There was no answer. Hermione pressed herself against the wall, so tired from the chain's power that she needed its support. She watched as a dark figure levitated down into her cell. The bright light reflected off his face, illuminating it a ghostly white framed by long pale hair. Grey eyes glittered down at her, reflected coldly in the white light.

"Lucius," Hermione breathed. She trembled with fear. Lucius said nothing for a moment, but glared at her. He looked angry. Hermione opened her mouth to speak.

" _Silencio,_ " Lucius interrupted harshly, flicking his wand towards her. He looked like he wanted to hit her, and Hermione shrank from him. Lucius regained composure immediately, crossing his arms in front his body in an imposing position.

"I wish to speak and will not have you interrupting, girl." Lucius' tone was severe, and although he hadn't asked a response, Hermione nodded mutely in reply. Lucius carried on.

"As you have likely deduced, you are my prisoner." He waited for her hesitant nod again. "Let me assure you, Mudblood, there is no escape from this place. There are so many protective enchantments here that Dumbledore's whole army could look for a century without finding you." He smirked. "This cell was meant to hold far more powerful and ferocious creatures than you, girl," he purred, teeth flashing for an instant like a panther before the strike. "Rescue and escape are not options for you."

Hermione's shoulders drooped, and she didn't bother to hide the angry defeat on her face. The chain around her ankle rattled as she shifted her weight uneasily. She was fighting to keep herself upright despite the chain's draining impact, and the effort was making her nauseous and woozy. Lucius sneered, realizing her symptoms.

"I am glad to see my new spell worked," Lucius gestured to her shackle with a self-satisfied half-smile. "It will elongate after I leave," he assured her. "A nice safety feature, don't you think?" Hermione appreciated the several meters distance between herself and Lucius. Inwardly, she screamed her rage at being treated like a bad animal. Outwardly, she pursed her lips and cast her gaze to the stone floor beneath their feet, not having the energy to do otherwise.

"While you are here, you will do as I command. Make no mistake, there will be repercussions for disobedience. You are to eat what food you are given. You are to keep some semblance of hygiene and order, as much as a filthy Mudblood can do so." He gave her a disgusted look. "When I require something of you, you shall give it." He watched her fume silently in the corner.

"I am a Malfoy," he reminded her, his tone smooth and maliciously gentle. "I always get what I want. One way or another. It would behoove you to obey me." He toyed with the snakehead end of his wand as a direct reminder to her of his power.

Hermione hugged herself, fear and fatigue overtaking her anger. She pressed herself further into the cold wall behind her.

"If you are capable of controlling yourself, I will lift the silencing charm." Lucius again waited for her nod of acquiescence, and Hermione felt the oppression of the _Silencio_ lift. She opened her mouth and then shut it again, apprehensive of what _controlling herself_ would mean to a Malfoy.

"I expect the Know-It-All Mudblood to have questions. You may ask them," Lucius told her by way of answer. Hermione took a breath through her exhaustion. She absolutely had to sit down and did so now, chain rattling beneath her movements. Lucius raised an expectant eyebrow.

"Why are you holding me here?" She asked the obvious question with some bravado.

"Leverage," Lucius answered levelly, intentionally eluding a true answer.

"For?"

"Keeping the major players of our game in line."

"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked, annoyed at his vague responses.

"Watch your tone girl." His warning made her halt, briefly. She changed tactics.

"I don't remember how I got here."

"No, you wouldn't, would you?" Lucius tapped his forehead. "I of course _obliviated_ you."

"How long will you keep me here?"

Lucius shrugged. "As long as need be."

"Will you kill me?" She refused to break eye contact.

"Suffice to say your life is in my hands." The corner of Lucius' mouth quirked up at her tauntingly.

"Will you hurt me?" Hermione could not stop herself from asking, breathless.

"No more than is necessary," Lucius answered, and she flinched. His answer meant _yes_ , and that terrified her. He was watching her expectedly, drinking in her fear, enjoying it. She tore her gaze away, unable to bear it.

"Wh-when?"

"Not tonight," his silky voice held a note of promise. Hermione fiercely blinked back the tears that pricked her eyes and nodded slow-motion in understanding. Silence. Then,

"Who else knows I'm here?"

"No one. And let me reiterate, no one would ever find you, girl."

A new fear tumbled through the storm of information in Hermione's head.

"And so if you die in battle?" Hermione's strangled voice cracked mid-sentence.

Lucius smirked and shrugged. "You had better hope I don't, in that case."

Hermione could feel her body start to shiver uncontrollably. Her jaw worked as though she'd caught a chill, though she knew she was sweating.

"I must say, you are somewhat of a disappointment," Lucius reprimanded. "From the way you're talked about, from the way you are able to manipulate everyone around you, I find your notorious cleverness and bravery somewhat lacking." He was falsifying his disappointment, and Hermione picked up on true notes of anger in his voice.

Manipulate? She wondered at his choice of words.

"What do you want from me?" she asked, blinking again against the sensation of tears.

"For now, Mudblood, all I need is your presence. Here, in this cell. Time will tell what I'll demand of you next."

His words swirled dizzyingly in her mind, doing more to set her on edge than to alleviate her fears. It occurred to Hermione that he was being ambiguous intentionally, to rattle her, to make her feel more vulnerable.

It was working.

Lucius cleared his throat, and her eyes snapped to his.

"I will come every day at dusk. You will be provided food once a day. I expect you will be smart enough to ration it." He spoke to her like a child. Hermione nodded curtly in reply, unable to speak despite having the freedom to do so.

There was silence. Hermione watched as he surveyed her tiny cell, then flourished his wand. Hermione recoiled in response, but he wasn't aiming for her. One intricate air pattern later and a tray of food appeared at the foot of her bed. As if pausing in afterthought, Lucius flicked his wand a second time to materialize a thin blanket and a towel.

"Until tomorrow," Lucius nodded to her.

"Good night," Hermione replied reflexively, voice a throaty whisper. Her face colored at her choice of words. Lucius raised an eyebrow at her and smirked.

"Until tomorrow, Ms. Granger." He replied firmly. You have survived the day." He flicked his cloak as he turned and levitated up and out the prison. As the great wooden door crashed down behind him, the last thing Hermione saw was his glinting grey eyes in the wandlight. Then, the light and his haunting face vanished, and Hermione was left in darkness.

Hermione all but collapsed after Lucius departed. A choked sob escaped her, echoing in the empty room. Her breathing was labored, but she was so overwhelmed with emotion that tears would not come. She moaned lowly, pressing her forehead into her knees.

This is not real, she denied. This cannot be happening. "This is a horrible dream," she breathed aloud. "This is not real. This cannot be real." Her fist collided solidly with the stone beneath her, sending very real shooting pains up her arm.

In a matter of moments, Hermione felt a shift in the magic of the chain, and her energy surged back to her body, electrocuting her heart so painfully it made her gasp. Jittery with nerves now, Hermione ran unsteady fingers through her tangled hair, massaging her scalp in slow, circular motions until she calmed. Kicking her foot out experimentally, she found that the chain did indeed regain its pull when she moved.

Crawling carefully on all fours, Hermione made her way to the end of her cot, to the tray of food. Squinting hard, she could make out a sandwich, water, and two whole hardboiled eggs. Not much for a twenty-four hour stipend, she thought. Her stomach was in knots but she knew she ought to eat now to stave off hunger and overeating later. Deciding on half the sandwich, Hermione paused before taking a bite.

"Food poisoning had better not be on the list of _necessary_ harms," she told no one.


	3. Chapter 3

When Lucius apparated to the clearing on the second night, he couldn't help but feel a light twist of anticipation in his gut as he approached the cell's trapdoor. Oh how _good_ it felt to be in power. He allowed himself the slightest of smiles, then composed himself to unlock the door.

His descent into the prison was as dramatic as the first, a slow levitation downwards illuminated only by the eerie white light of his wand. He watched as Hermione shifted from foot to foot in her corner of the room, pressing herself to the wall, her chain allowing her not a meter of freedom.

Lucius took a moment to watch her. It was clear to him that she was scared and on edge. Her eyes darted fleetingly about, assessing his person and his wand, the space between them, the door to freedom up above. Like a trapped rabbit, he thought. Or a caged lioness, he considered again.

He noted that her right hand was held just slightly behind her back, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. A caged animal, he recalled, was a dangerous one.

 _What do you have there lioness_?

"Show me your hands," he commanded icily. She flinched badly at the sound of his voice. He noted that she seemed more afraid than aggressive, but he would not take chances. What could she have possibly found down here by way of a weapon? Did she honestly think she could take him on without magic? His nostrils flared at the insult.

And yet she did not move, her body rooted to the spot in apparent fear. Or, she was playing him for a fool. He glared at her.

 _You will not get the better of me._

" _Petrificus totalis_ ," he snarled, the orange jet of light piercing her chest in an instant. Hermione's body, immediately wooden, swayed back and forth unsteadily. Her face was frozen into a look of intimidated fright.

In three strides he was by her side. He gripped her shoulder and spun her about in quick fashion, pushing her breast and face against the cold stone wall of the prison. He held her by the neck as he directed his wandtip downwards to her hand. It was cupped into a c-shaped half fist, and was empty of a weapon of any sort. He roughly felt through her clothes, checking her thoroughly, and found no sign of ill intent. Lucius felt the tightness in his chest loosen as the threat of danger edged away. He also found himself slightly disappointed.

" _Remollio"_ he uttered, and Hermione's body went immediately lax in his grip. She struggled to right herself, pressing the palm of her left hand against the wall. She was panting hard as if she had run a race. She tried to tuck her right arm out of sight again, but Lucius was quick and snagged hold about her wrist. She yelped aloud, the first sound she'd made yet tonight. He turned her around to face him, bringing his wandlight close.

 _Ah,_ he thought pleased with himself, _little lioness, you were hiding something from me._

Hermione's wrist and the top over her hand were a pretty purple mess, swollen and angry looking. He lifted an eyebrow at her.

"And just what happened here?" he asked her silkily. Hermione licked her lips and cleared her throat.

"I fell," she whispered, her voice cracking. Lucius sniffed, lip curling slightly upward.

"And how exactly did you contrive to do that?" Lucius taunted, enjoying himself now. Hermione was positively shaking in his grip, and the feeling of domination was exhilarating. When she didn't answer immediately, he tightened his grip forcefully about her wrist, making her cry out.

"Please!," she gasped. "It was an – an accident." Tears were welling in the corners of her eyes, and she was blinking rapidly to prevent them from falling.

Dissatisfied with the answer, Lucius tugged at her wrist, pulling her body close to his. His wand jutted into her chest, just beneath her breastbone.

" _Legilimens,_ " he whispered, staring into her frightened eyes.

Immediately he was transported through a whirlwind of memories in Hermione's mind. He prodded around gently, searching for the last twenty four hours. They came to the surface easily, fresh and vibrant.

Lucius watched as Hermione's afternoon was spent prowling the prison cell, examining the walls, the spigots, the toilet the bed. And time and again staring up at the door above her head. He watched as she dragged the bedframe to the center of the room and, using what appeared to be significant strength of will, propped the bedframe straight up against the wall.

Lucius could predict how this scene ended, but he allowed himself the moment of enjoyment watching Hermione climb up the bedframe, reach towards the door up above, and then have it all crash down on her. She was lucky really that all she sustained was a broken wrist, he thought.

Satisfied, Lucius exited the scene and considered the flashing orbs of thought and memory. Sparkling gold and red thoughts of Hogwarts glittered annoying everywhere. Memories of the Potter boy and the Weasel permeated the air too.

Memories were linked by association, and Hermione's mind was easily plied to show him a scene of a different bed, in a different room. A tent really, no matter how magicked it was to look like anything else. The bed was overloaded with squashy pillows and blankets, and Hermione was smiling up at a certain red headed boy. He fumbled with the zipper of her jumper as she tugged at the buckle of his belt. Lucius watched as Hermione's sweater slowly was stripped away, and his breath instinctually caught at the sight of her clad in jeans and her bra, looking so femininely vulnerable. He was mildly disgusted with himself for reacting so to a Mudblood, but there is no accounting for the baser of male instincts. That being said, he had no desire to watch a randy teenage boy get off, and he turned to leave the memory. A voice caught his attention. Her voice.

"Wait."

Lucius paused, and it took him a moment to realize she wasn't talking to him. Obviously, memory-Hermione was talking to Ron.

"Wait," she repeated. Ron pulled back, staring at her. "I…I don't think I can do this right now," she said. She took a sudden step away, and the whole scene of the memory wobbled unsteadily. Another memory was being triggered, and Lucius stole away to it.

Hermione was running, running hard and fast through the woods. Tears streamed down her face. She pushed away branches and leaves, frantic. Lucius considered her. She looked terrible, tired and bruised, her clothes torn, her feet bare. She was wild-eyed and afraid. More afraid than she was with Lucius. So far, he amended.

Hermione shrieked as a dark-cloaked figure apparated in front of her. She bowled into him, nearly knocking the two of them to the ground. The figure gripped her firmly about the shoulders as she screamed.

"Hermione," the figure said in a desperate voice. An unmistakable voice.

"Hermione, it's me," he pulled her into a fierce hug as a sob was wrenched from Hermione's throat.

"It's over," Draco soothed. "It's over Hermione, I've got you." She cried, cradling her head to his chest.

"I've got you," he repeated, "It's okay, it's over."

Lucius frowned hatefully at the scene, but in that moment he experienced a sudden and very physical shoving sensation, and the next he knew he was stumbling backwards across the cell, present day. His Mudblood prisoner stood in her corner, cradling her wrist. Tears tracked her cheeks in sharp contrast to the defiant look she was throwing his way.

"Stay out of my mind," her voice wobbled.

Lucius straightened himself, adjusting his cloak and flicking away invisible dirt where she had touched him. There was a moment of silence.

"You are a terrible Occlumens," he noted airily, as though nothing had happened. "And a worse escape artist," he added with a sneer. He watched her stiffen, clearly biting back a wicked comment. He waited for temptation to give in, but she remained silent.

"I ought to leave you with that hand as suffering reminder," Lucius told her. That got a look of surprise from Hermione.

"What," Lucius sneered with anger, "Did you think I would heal you instantly, coddle you like my fool of a son? You could do with some suffering."

Hermione's lips thinned. "No," she replied honestly. "I did not expect that you would consider healing me at all."

 _Because you are a monster._ The undercurrent of unspoken words was loud and clear and oddly unsettling. He stepped towards her again, his arm outstretched towards hers.

"Give it here girl," he commanded. She hesitated, clutching the injured limb close. He let out a breath.

"Stupid Mudblood," he told her, "Have you already forgotten what I told you yesterday?"

"That you would hurt me—"

"That you wouldn't come to unnecessary harm," he interrupted. He leveled his gaze at hers until she broke eye contact, looking at the ground. "Give me your hand," he repeated to her.

Slowly, haltingly, she placed her hand in his. He did not even shiver in disgust as he thought he might. She did flinch when he prodded his wand into the flesh and bone, but she did not make a sound as he took to the process of knitting the tissue into healed pieces again. There was only one small fracture really, he surmised and with flick of his wrist he snapped the two pieces back together. Hermione gasped and bit her lip, but said nothing as he finished up his work.

Hermione flexed her fingers experimentally when he was done, examining his handiwork.

"Thank you," she uttered rigidly. Lucius took her hand again, his grip tight.

 _You are mine, little lioness._ And how oh-so easy it was to ingratiate her to his person. He looked at her considering.

"The next time you try something so stupid, I will just remove the hand," he promised her.

* * *

Hermione spent a second rather harrowing night shivering beneath the thin blanket that Malfoy had provided. She desperately missed the warming spells of her camping tent. Moreover, she missed Ron and Harry. What must they be thinking, she wondered.

On that note, what on earth was _Malfoy_ thinking? Clearly, he had not told Voldemort of her existence here. Otherwise she was sure she would have been interrogated by now. That caused her to shudder. When _would_ he hand her over? What was he waiting for?

 _Leverage,_ he had said. Leverage for what?

 _The major players of our game._ What did he mean by that? _Who_ did he mean by that? There were pieces of a puzzle coming into place, but try as she might, Hermione could not put the whole picture together before she drifted into an uneasy sleep.

When she awoke later she could only guess at the time but she judged mid-morning by the angle of the sun's rays on the floor. She stood in its warming path, soaking up the scant heat with what felt like luxury.

She took her time exploring the two spigots, one of which sprayed cold and the other lukewarm water. She relieved herself, sat on the bed, waited. She dragged the bed once more to the center of the room and centered herself on the mattress directly beneath the rays of sun. The chiaroscuro of light filtering through the grate down to her was magical in its own way, dancing about her shoulders and forehead playfully. She lulled herself into a doze, then awoke again.

Captivity was terribly _boring_ , when her heart wasn't hammering a mile a minute. She sighed. Out of her sheer boredom she took up the chain in her hands, fiddling with the heavy links. Already the skin under her shackle was becoming red and macerated, angry looking.

Steel and iron were stronger than stone, she supposed, appreciating the metal substance. So she wouldn't be able to break the chain. Experimentally though she smashed the chain into the ground. The rock below splintered fractionally, exploding a small sliver of grey that went skittering across the floor. The chain stayed willfully intact. Hermione scooped up the angular fragment of rock. Retreating to the corner that the bed formerly inhabited, she used her new tool to scratch three vertical lines into the bottommost corner stone.

 _Three days_ , she thought miserably. _Three bloody days._


	4. Chapter 4

Lucius was having an absolutely black day. Nothing had gone right, he growled to himself crossly as he strode to the clearing that housed his prisoner. And the day was hardly yet over.

It had all started in the very early morning. Lucius had awoken to the searing, slithering pain of his Dark Mark erupting on the skin of his forearm. He lit the room magically, the sun not even properly risen yet to greet the day. Donning his garb with haste, Lucius apparated away to the meeting hall. He arrived with a loud _crack_ to the startlement of other arriving Death Eaters; each looked as disheveled as he. Lucius adjusted the collar of his robes, straightened, and donned a look of haughty indifference. He doffed his traveling gloves, folding the leather neatly and pocketing them. He strode through the packof black-robed witches and wizards, grip tight on the silver head of his cane. He nodded curtly in greeting to Dolohov and McNair, but his eyes roved the sea of cloaks. Where was Draco?

"Lucius," purred a cat-like voice behind him, catching him mid-stride. Lucius refrained from rolling his eyes and turned.

"Bellatrix," he returned. Bellatrix Lestrange smiled unnervingly at him.

"Cissy tells me you have a secret," Bellatrix teased, her eyes glittering with undisguised interest and glee. Lucius raised a long eyebrow at her, unperturbed.

"Does she now, Bella?" he intoned placidly. Bellatrix pouted at him beneath her heavy-lidded eyes. It was not a good look, he reflected and repressed his own look of disgust with difficulty. She said nothing as she watched him unblinkingly, until he sighed and addressed her.

"What do you want Bellatrix?" he asked, crossing his arms. His eyes flitted over the crowd again. Where in the name of Merlin _was_ that boy?

"Cissy says you have a secret," Bella repeated, sing-song, "and I want to know what it is." She was practically bouncing on the tips of her toes, and her hands wrung the shaft of her wand so hard a tiny blue spark shot out from the tip.

"Oops," she laughed, as the spark hit Rookwood, singing what was left of his thinning hair. He yelped and spun angrily, but upon seeing his inadvertent attacker, wisely chose to nod and turn his back again. Addled as she might appear, Bellatrix was a heartless witch, and ferocious with hexes and jinxes when it came to dueling. And it did not take much to set her off. No one intentionally got into it with her if they could help it.

On a good day, this kind of diversion would have been enough to distract Bellatrix into prancing away to agitate someone else; but, as Lucius again reflected that afternoon, today was not a good day.

"I want to knowww," she whined, childlike. "Is it to do with that horrible headmistress-y McGonagall?" she chattered excitedly. "No? The Potter baby then? Is it Draco? Is it to do with the ministry? Is it –ahh," she crooned, and although Lucius could swear he had not changed expressions, he saw the triumph creeping across her face.

"It _is_ Draco," she crowed. "Oh _do_ tell me Lucius." She batted her eyelids imploringly at him and grabbed his sleeve. "I want to know. I would to anything to help my precious nephew you know." The lips pouted again in false concern.

Lucius wrenched himself out of her grasp, smoothing the wrinkle of his fabric where her hand had touched him.

"There is no secret, Bellatrix," he snapped irritably, keeping a practiced stoic façade. "There are only your delusions of plot and scheme, and your grievously misplaced paranoia. Give it a rest, woman, for Merlin's sake. And pull yourself together. The Dark Lord is arriving."

And indeed, there was a sudden coldness in the room that signified the arrival of Lord Voldemort, and the candles on the wall flickered in warning. Despite himself, Lucius felt his stomach clench in anticipation.

"Secrets secrets cannot be," taunted Bellatrix to Lucius, "Secrets that you hide I will surely set free!" She ended this rhyme with a malicious cackle, and then tore herself away in a flurry to get to the head of the crowd. Lucius watched her go, relieved that her overwhelming lust for Voldemort's embodiment of power outweighed her desire to pester him.

What had Narcissa told her, he mused. He must address this with her later. It would certainly not do for his wife to be suspicious of him, and it most _definitely_ would not to do have Bellatrix on his case.

Lucius spared no more thought of this however, as a cloud of grey smoke tunneled into the center of the room, materializing Lord Voldemort himself. Lucius bowed with the rest of his contingency, straightening on Voldemort's signal.

"Friendsss," he hissed, snake-like and malevolent. Lucius could tell he was in a dangerous mood. "We have been betrayed," Voldemort informed them gravely. "The group of werewolves recruited to the Dark side have turned!" He paused for dramatic effect before continuing,

"Nott, Mulciber and the Carrows are _dead_ , lured to a gathering and ambushed." This last was uttered with an enraged hiss. Voldemort paused again to let this information sink in to the Death Eaters, who were beginning to murmur with discord.

"They have overthrown and culled Fenrir Greyback," Voldemort persisted, to the chorus of louder murmurs.

Lucius considered this information. The loss of the werewolves was not all that bad, but the loss of not one but _four_ Death Eaters was certainly a blow to put things in perspective.

"They left behind a message," Voldemort continued in distaste.

With reverence, he brought his wandtip to his temple, eyelids drooping to a ptotic position. They re-opened as he withdrew the wand, a silvery stream of memory trailing at its end. With a flick of his wrist, Voldemort sent the image forth; it splashed in a ripple of silvery waves against the stone wall of the along with the other Death Eaters watched as the scene played itself out.

Viewed through snake-slit eyes, Voldemort himself made his way through a wooded copse that gave way to a small clearing. In the pale light of the half-moon, four bodies were perceptible on the grassy ground, their silhouettes those of adult humans. Voldemort's boot nudged one, flipping it flaccidly onto its back. Theodore Nott Senior's visage stared blankly up at them, eyes wide and unseeing. The morbid effect of the scene was heightened by a dagger driven straight into Nott's chest. A note, splotched with red fading to rust brown, was pinned beneath the metal.

 _Your insult to our kind is irrevocable. Seek us again and we will annihilate you as you intended to do to us. The leaders of the Light will destroy you, with the werewolves at their side._

The short film of memory faded from the stones, to much chattering of the Death Eaters. Lucius mulled this information over silently, considering the message. It was fairly well known through the Death Eaters that werewolves, along with other dangerous magical creatures and half-breeds, would be eliminated once Voldemort had destroyed Potter. For now, it suited them to have powerful allies. But, when all was said and done, it would not do to have rivals for power. Although common knowledge among Death Eaters, it was obviously something of intimate secrecy among them.

Conceivably, the werewolves could have worked out Voldemort's plan themselves. They could have guessed.

Or.

Lucius felt his heart drop forcefully to the level of his navel. He couldn't have. That stupid boy. Where _was_ he? Lucius felt sweat start to bead on his forehead. Did the Dark Lord suspect this also?

"The question is," hissed Voldemort very softly, as if in answer to Lucius' question, "Which of you betrayed our cause? Who is it that tipped them off, that swayed them to join the Light? Who," he seethed, "is responsible for the deaths of _four_ of my followers?"

The room was silent. There was a feeling of general unease. No one stepped forward, understandably. Bellatrix whimpered and sniveled at the head of the crowd, putting on a show – or perhaps truly feeling, Lucius did not know – of profound grief.

Voldemort laid a familiar hand on Bellatrix's shoulder, stroking her as he would a favorite pet. His eyes roved the room, piercing the Death Eaters with a malicious glare. He alighted on Lucius, and Lucius held his breath until he moved on without apparent interest. Just as a knot of anxiety untwisted itself from his chest, Voldemort's eyes darted back to Lucius. Lucius felt dread pour over him like cold water.

"Luciusss," Voldemort called. Lucius stepped forward, heart beating rapidly. He struggled to maintain his composure.

"My lord?" he addressed Voldemort, bowing lowly.

"My old follower, yesss, my friend," Voldemort appraised him with his snake-like slits of pupils. "A loyal servant yesss, but what of your son? Where is Draco thisss morning?"

Lucius felt faintly nauseous, and he skimmed his mind for an excuse for Draco. Before he could speak, however, a silky voice from behind him spoke up.

"If I may, my Lord," answered Severus Snape, inclining his head but maintaining his rigidly severe posturing, "The young Malfoy was unable to leave Hogwarts unnoticed today. He was serving detention under that hawk McGonagall this morning. Cleaning rat cages by hand, I believe, for instigating….and _winning,_ " he added with touch of evident pride, "a duel against a Gryffindor seventh-year."

Voldemort gave his version of a half-smile.

"I sseee," he replied, apparently satisfied. "Thank you Ssseveruss." Severus gave another deep nod of his head, his black hair falling across his face, before stepping back in line.

Then, before Lucius could register it, Voldemort had hissed " _Legilimens!_ " and Lucius found himself reliving memories that had no business presenting themselves at a Death Eater gathering. Lucius, giving Draco his first broomstick. Harry Potter, twelve years old and confronting Lucius about Voldemort's diary Horcrux in the hallway at Hogwarts. A muggle family, screaming under the torture of Lucius' wand.

By the time that scene played itself through, Lucius was cognizant enough to suppress his important memories – among them, his own suspicions about Draco and the secret imprisonment of Hermione Granger – and to throw up other memories in deflection. This was not, after all, his first legilimency session with the Dark Lord.

Leading him from one devoted Death-Eating memory to another, adding in a tasteful amount of his and Narcissa's love life for good measure and personal touch, Malfoy locked away his secrets and fed Voldemort an assortment of memories until the Dark Lord was satisfied. He withdrew from Lucius' mind, and Lucius took a dramatic step backwards as if to steady himself.

"Luciuss, please step back in line."

Lucius did so, not looking at Severus. Severus was probably the best liar and Occlumens Lucius knew, beyond himself. If Draco was not serving detention, which was likely, Severus was protecting him in the same way Lucius himself would. Lucius felt a kind of subtle admiration for Snape's due diligence by his son, and he would not cast doubt on Severus' presentation.

Voldemort continued in similar fashion throughout the room, occasionally calling out a name and demanding explanation as to their absence. Lucius resisted the urge to shudder and relieve the tension in his muscles. Mental invasion by the Dark Lord took its toll, and it left him feeling used and tired.

"Avery!" the Dark Lord seethed at last, "Where isss Avery?"

"In St. Mungo's," piped up McNair, "I reckon that last giant's left him a permanent dent in the head." McNair recalled the memory with a look of something akin to amused joy. "Ah, er," he continued, more seriously, "that giant is now in with our lot. I figure that's the majority of them now, with just a few weakling stragglers joining the Light."

The meeting adjourned after an hour and a half interrogation that yielded no answers, no traitors, and much to Bellatrix's dismay, no punishments.

And so here Lucius was, at the edge of the clearing of the wood, the glittering red and gold marble in hand. He pocketed the Portkey safely. It was not even midday and yet thought Lucius, his lips thinning resolutely, it was already a foul day. And it was about to get worse.

* * *

Hermione sighed as she scratched the seventh line into the wall with her bit of mortar. Seven days.

Seven days of monotony, of anxiety. Six nights of Lucius Malfoy, of his unforgiving stare and his steely cryptic words.

In seven days, she had managed to acquire one bar of soap and one towel from Malfoy. Tonight she hoped to finagle a toothbrush out of him, as her teeth felt uncomfortably filmy and unclean. At first Hermione had been hesitant about asking Malfoy for anything, but their mutual desire for cleanliness had won out over either believing it to be a concession on their part. Showering was a generally quick procedure, as it was chilly and uncomfortable in the cell; moreover, she had to take time to shimmy her jeans and underwear down the length of the chain as she could neither afford to get them wet nor take them off entirely with the chain's obstruction.

Afternoons were warmest, and as the sun drove itself directly down into her prison, Hermione hopped beneath the lukewarm tap water. She was just done washing her hair when she felt the chain start to shake and shiver, its sign to her that it would start to reel itself in. She frowned in confusion, for surely it was only early afternoon yet. Lucius shouldn't be due until nightfall. Hurriedly, she wrapped her towel about her torso, tucking it in neatly at the top to form a makeshift dress. She darted to stand in the corner beside the bed before the invidious chain had the chance to knock her sideways. She felt the now-familiar drain of energy that the chain incurred when it was activated, and took a deep breath to stave off dizziness.

She drew an apprehensive breath as she saw Lucius' shadow over her door, heard the groaning creak of the massive slab of wood bending its hinges, and watched the dark wizard descend.

"Mr. Malfoy," she greeted nervously, unable to keep the quaver from her voice. Her hair was dripping wet, and water ran in icy rivulets down her shoulders. She shivered. Unconsciously she wrung her hands together.

Malfoy didn't return the pleasantry but eyed her levelly as he stood with his arms crossed. Hermione shifted her weight on her feet, causing the wretched chain to sound off its customary jingle.

"Mr. Malfoy," she tried again, licking her lips, "What are you – er, I – what brings you here so early today?" She proudly held his black stare. He sighed.

"Go to the corner, Granger," he said, sounding almost tired, or so Hermione thought.

"But the – oh!" and she realized that the chain obliged her movements as she sidestepped towards the bed.

"Not that one, girl," Lucius bit out. He pointed beneath her shower spigot. Hermione paused, wary of crossing him.

"Why? Malfoy, what is going on?" She hugged her arms around her towel, self-conscious of her scant attire. She was shaking with adrenaline now, her body perceiving a very distinct and unknown danger. Lucius regarded her for a moment as she watched him choose his words.

"The players of our game are not behaving as I had hoped," he answered silkily. "They require…encouragement." He let the implicit explanation hang.

Hermione felt the blood drain from her face and the panic burst in her chest. She took a dizzying breath, trying to prepare herself for what she knew was to follow.

"You will hurt me," she whispered.

"Yes."

Hermione sunk to the floor, flattening herself against the unyielding stone behind her.

"Not there, Ms. Granger," he chastened sharply, pointing again to the corner under the shower, "Move."

Shaking and all at once unable to form coherent thought, Hermione grabbed blindly for her clothes as she forced herself to comply.

"Don't bother," Lucius said pragmatically, "They will only get soiled." Hermione nodded dumbly, holding her breath as she passed the Death Eater. She stood shaking in the appropriate corner beneath the shower spigot. Her bare feet pressed into the grate of the drain beneath her wet and slick still from her shower.

"Lie down, girl."

Tears of apprehension and fear fell unbidden from her eyes as Hermione stared confusedly at him. Lie down? Why? _What_ exactly was he planning….she shuddered violently and closed her eyes tightly against sudden new fears.

"Lie down Ms. Granger," and Hermione imagined there was a gentler inflection of his tone now. "Most people fall instantly under the Cruciatus curse. I will not have you harmed unnecessarily from a sustained concussion."

Hermione couldn't help the hysteric laughter that bubbled out from her mouth. "Unnecessarily?" she choked scornfully on that word as she lowered her body to the cold floor. Lucius at least had the decency to nod in acknowledgement.

"I assure you Ms. Granger, I do nothing without necessity. As I promised you in the beginning. Everything I do is for the good of my family. The protection of what is mine."

Hermione barely had time to register this profound statement before she was hit with a pain so intense it knocked the breath from her lungs. She curled in on herself, blind with the consumption of agony that lasted an eternity.

* * *

Hermione was aware of a dull thud in her ears as she awoke, a throbbing of her body as it worked hard to supply oxygen to her damaged body. She ached, oh how she hurt! She cracked her eyes open, blinking. Her cell was dark, indicating night had fallen. She was alone. Quaking, she propped herself up on one unsteady arm, surveying her naked body. Well she _looked_ intact anyway, despite feeling as though her innards had been eviscerated twice over. Groaning, she shifted to lean her back against the wall, hissing as the cold stone met bare flesh.

She was aware of the scent of urine, and realized that she would need another shower. Her hair was still damp from earlier. In fact, she felt the residue of sweat all over her body, and she grimaced at the effluvium of uncleanliness. Her towel was thrown to the opposite corner of the room, although she had no recollection of moving it there. Maybe Lucius did. She shuddered at the memory of his visit.

Crawling back to the shower spigot, Hermione cataloged her injuries, noting several large bruises blossoming on bony prominences. Likely a consequence of her earlier convulsions, she thought bitterly. With shaky hands she turned the spigot. The water that poured out was significantly warmer than it had been before; in another circumstance it would have been a welcome upgrade, but in her postictal state the liquid hit back like fire, as though her skin was hypersensitive to any form of touch. She cried out audibly, the sound echoing off the cell walls. Hermione finished as quickly as she could, trembling with the effort, and then stumbled back to her bed. She barely managed to towel off adequately and wrap her hair in the towel before she collapsed on her cot, shivering. She pulled the threadbare blanket up to her chin and sank into a fitful sleep.

Lucius paused as he steeled himself for his routine visit to the Mudblood girl tonight. He was anticipating a myriad of states she could be in, but certainly fear and anger would feature in all of them. He glanced around dourly as he passed through the wards on his property, reassured by the sudden appearance of the prison door in the field's center. He could imagine the pull of the chain about her ankle as his entrance stimulated its retraction. Such a nifty contraption really, though it unsettled him somewhat to think of such powerful magic used a slip of a girl – no, a _Mudblood_ , he reminded himself forcefully, and the troublesome girl had forced his imprisonment of her anyway.

He snorted softly, recalling the instantly compliant effect the memory of Hermione's torment had had on Draco. A Malfoy besotted with a Mudblood. Lucius frowned at the notion, then brushed it off. The ploy had worked, and Draco's fancies of switching to the Light were harshly retracted.

He had been furious, yes, at first when he viewed the memory. The memory was even more vivid and convincing than Lucius had really hoped for. How docilely she obeyed him, he thought; how destitute and frightened she looked, there on the floor in nothing but a towel, eyes streaming with tears. It was perfect, really. He had let the scene close on Hermione's motionless and naked body alone on the floor.

Draco's fury had subsided to angry fear and anxiety after several explosive and fruitless minutes, and then they had serious deliberations. Lucius briefly relived the volley of admissions between the two of them this evening.

Yes, Draco had admitted bitingly to Lucius, it had been he who informed the werewolves last night.

Yes, Lucius had revealed threateningly, Hermione was still alive. For now.

Yes, Draco had begrudgingly promised, he would be obedient and subservient to his Lord. In exchange for her protection.

Yes, Lucius had sworn, he would continue to hurt her if Draco did not comply.

Whatever you want me to do, Draco had answered.

Lucius snorted at his son's own folly. But still, it was Lucius who was here in the clearing, his conscious forcing him to care for the Mudblood's welfare.

Lucius checked himself over once before opening the trapdoor. Appearances were everything to a Slytherin, and he approved the standard severe dark clothing that clashed with his pale skin and blonde hair. Donning a smooth façade to match his attire, Lucius descended into the stone prison.

He found her standing at her post as expected, the chain not allowing even a centimeter of leeway. She was bleary-eyed with sleep and quite obviously exhausted, with the blanket wrapped around her body and the towel falling from her head. She worked to straighten herself out, clutching the displaced towel against her body and allowing frizzed ringlets of hair to escape down over her shoulders. She shook with chill and confusion, but her chin was held high in paradigmatic Griffyndor bravery. The look was unquestionably satisfying, alluring even. To see such an inherently courageous creature so forcibly submissive. He watched as she took in his appearance, as she worked her jaw to form a question. He let her suffer a pregnant pause as she drew up the courage to question him.

"Again?" her voice rasped, and he watched as she realized that she had screamed herself hoarse from earlier. The waver in her voice belied her apparent bravery.

"No." He answered quicker than he would have liked. Lucius was no stranger to enjoying the discomfort of others, but there was something in her pitiful appearance that urged him to assuage her obvious fear in this particular moment. He frowned to himself and saw her shrink away from him in response. The mistrust in her eyes was plainly evident, and he sighed.

"Ms. Granger, your performance," and he drawled the word intentionally to watch for that spark of anger to flash across her face, "from earlier was entirely adequate. Hopefully an encore will not be needed."

He heard an audible breath release with clear relief, but then watched as her brow creased again in a frown of worry. For whom then, he wondered. For Draco? Ah, likely for her friends. Let her worry. He glared at her, and again she pressed herself seemingly further into the stone wall away from him. He schooled his features again.

"I have brought your food," he said by way of conversation. With a flourish of his wand he conjured a bowl of restorative broth in addition to her normal stipend. He did not miss the violent flinch Hermione gave at the motion of his wand, but he did not comment.

The savory scent of soup permeated the air, and he heard her stomach protesting its denial of food. She blushed prettily, shifting her grip on her makeshift linen dress. From his vantage, he now noticed the discolored bruises that were surfacing to her elbows, knees and shins.

She was so small, he thought with a negligible pinch of regret. The lack of sunlight had not done her any favors, and he noted faint circles under her eyes, stark against pale skin. How imprisonment had changed her, weakening her body by the day. Likely the social isolation was more devastating to her than it was to most, he reflected. The sad daily tally etched into the stone beside her bed caught his eye. A week, and look what he had done to her.

The sound of the short chain clinking drew his eyes back to his prisoner. The sound was unreasonably irritating, and he scowled at Hermione. She was shifting her feet, not meeting his eyes, as if indecisive about something. He knew her energy stores must be severely depleted, between the chain's power and the curse he had unleashed on her earlier. His own stomach turned at the memory; he himself was not unfamiliar with the reception of that Unforgivable, and he knew it was pride alone that kept her upright before him now. A spark of admiration for the Mudblood blossomed, and he stamped it out with difficulty.

"I will return tomorrow," he nodded to her in dismissal.

"Wait," Hermione's voice followed him as he half-turned to leave. He raised an inquisitive eyebrow at her.

Hermione's voice was stronger now, and he marveled somewhat at her resilience. She looked matter-of-fact, like she was settling a promise to herself to carry out a mission.

"I would like a toothbrush." Her attempt at a haughty demanding tone failed spectacularly in her state.

Lucius regarded her. He supposed she had earned it, he thought with idle amusement. With a decisive flick of his wand, tooth cleaning powder and a wooden toothbrush materialized on her bed.

"Thank you." Her words were terse, but he also recognized the true appreciation at being granted this prize. It sickened him slightly to hear her gratitude after the torment he put her through today.

"Eat. You need it." He ignored the brief look of surprise as he turned his heel and ascended upwards through the trapdoor.

* * *

Lucius wasn't sure precisely what prompted him to do so, but he returned to Hermione's cell hours later. He could not stop thinking about her all evening, those brown eyes staring at him every time he closed his eyes. It drove him to the point of insomnia. And so, when Narcissa was fast asleep, he crept off to his study to take hold of the gold and red marble.

On arrival, he deactivated the chain-shortening spell temporarily so she wouldn't be aware of his presence. He wasn't sure he wanted her know he was visiting for the third time in one day.

He stood over the trapdoor for several minutes, listening to the sough of leaves through the trees, listening for any sound of movement below him. Silence met his vigil, and with a whispered _Silencio_ he opened the trapdoor, affording him a better view down below. He could make out her form just barely in the moonlight, wrapped tightly in the thin blanket he had provided and sleeping, albeit fitfully. Lucius frowned. The air was growing cold and in fact, an early frost had started to form tonight. His look blackened as he realized finally that she must be freezing at night. Why had she not said anything?

He recalled her stalwart demand for a toothbrush today. Stupid Gryffindor pride, he groused silently. It wouldn't kill the Mudblood to beg, but going on like this surely would. His anger towards her masked his own guilt at denying her such basic needs.

Well, as a well-dressed aristocrat himself, Lucius' fabric-conjuring skills happened to be up to par. With a complicated flourish, he materialized a fine comforter. Too fine for a prisoner really, he surmised, and with careful thought and a well-executed charm, the blanket transformed into something somewhat lumpier, far less lush, and just appropriate enough for a prisoner. He levitated it downwards, setting it on the corner of the bed. Upon second thought, he unfolded the comforter and draped it over her body, careful not to disturb her slumber. Satisfied with this outing, Lucius closed Hermione's door and retired for the night, pleased that finally this day had drawn to a close.


	5. Chapter 5

It was day twelve. Hermione's bruises had blossomed fully and were starting to fade, but she still felt the achy aftershocks of the Cruciatus curse. Occasionally tiny sparks of lightening quick pain would radiate down her neck to the tips of her fingers, making her jump and twitch. She wondered at first if the nerve damage was permanent, but the shocks lessened with each passing day.

Hermione had spent the entire next day and night sleeping following her ordeal. Her body demanded recompense for the damages done to it, and she had been barely awake long enough to mark the passage of that day on her morose scoreboard before falling asleep once more.

By the tenth day, Hermione had been able to think clearly once again. She still spent most of the day in bed, recuperating. Her mind whirred though with thoughts of that horrible day. What was it that Malfoy had said?

 _Everything I do is for the good of my family. The protection of what is mine._

What did he mean by that? Something to do with Narcissa? Or Draco? Or, she supposed, Bellatrix? She dismissed this last thought. She couldn't imagine that Lucius and Bellatrix were familiar beyond expected courtesy. That left his wife and son. She didn't know Narcissa at all, but from what Draco had told her once Narcissa's sympathies did not lie as stringently as his father's did with Voldemort. Hermione smiled wanly at the remembrance of this conversation with the younger Malfoy. She and Draco had developed a somewhat rocky friendship in the past year; he could not help but to act the Slytherin at times, which won him no favors with Ron and Harry. But at other times his desire to help the Order of the Phoenix covertly was undeniably genuine, Gryffindor-like even.

And what of Draco, then? She could see that if Lucius found out about Draco's Light tendencies that there would be a major rift in the family. But she failed to see how she fit into that triangle. There were pieces of this puzzle here that she was missing, which irked her and fed into the confusion and anxiety of her role in this cell.

On the note of other puzzles, she had been pleasantly surprised, although unsettled, at the appearance of the thick blanket. She did not remember Malfoy giving her one, and so she concluded that either amnesia was one of the repercussions of torture, or else Malfoy had been here without her knowing. That thought made her shiver with discomfort. She did not like the idea of being covertly watched.

And with this in mind and her strength returning, Hermione was spending her twelfth day resolutely searching her cell for stealth charms. Bewitching an object to spy for you was not an easy field of magic, but Hermione had little doubt of Lucius' capability to master this talent. Likely it was a useful skill to have as a Death Eater; it certainly was for an auror, according to Alastor Moody. She recalled his lesson on fundamentals of espionage magic. The object to be bewitched must be stationary, a permanent fixture. It mustn't be made of metal, as metal was generally malleable and tended to give a skewed view of what you were spying upon. Hermione allowed herself a faint smile. Moody had once relayed an investigation of a wizarding British household in which a silver chandelier had been charmed with such an espionage spell; the view from the receiving end was that of the family members speaking backwards in Yiddish and wearing outlandish purple hats topped with live turkeys. The evidence, even translated, was too flimsy and ridiculous to hold up in court.

The other fundamentals Hermione could recall mainly pertained to the type of spying you were after. Audible information only could be obtained from any type of surface; banisters were particularly a favorite among aurors because they were centrally located within the household, and wood was generally an excellent substance for absorbing information. Visual information though, required a smooth and flat surface from which to view, much like how a camera might operate. Walls were generally the preferred medium, although tapestries were not. Even with permanent sticking charms, tapestries generally delivered muffled information, and tapestries depicting humans were especially unreliable as they tended to tattle to the household residents about the espionage charm.

Lastly, and most importantly to Hermione, was how to detect espionage charms. It really wasn't all that difficult to do, provided you had the presence of mind to look for one and adequate time to search. The principle of the thing was to view the object in question in the full rays of the sun; if you looked carefully and at precisely thirty-seven degrees from the surface of the object, you would see the surface ripple gently with a pinkish light. They had practiced this in their fourth year with Moody – well, with Crouch, Hermione amended. With a sudden pang she remembered Ron's obvious frustration with this task until Hermione had politely corrected his viewing position from seventy-four degrees to the proper thirty-seven.

Oh, Ron.

Hermione's heart swelled up tightly, eyes pricking with tears. What she wouldn't give to be back at Hogwarts, safe and with her friends, happy. She shook her head. Not now, she reminded herself.

She surveyed the room around her. Well, there were some parts of the room that she would simply never be able to investigate, as they never saw daylight. But she would do what she could. For a frame of reference, Hermione folded her towel into a neat forty-five degree angle, and her thinner sheet into thirds to form a thirty-three degree angle. Holding the two together, she estimated where thirty-seven degrees would fall and marked it with a smudge of dirt. Using thi rather cumbersome protractor, she made her way around the room, examining each stone in the wall of her cell as the sunlight permitted, circling the prison as the beam of light overhead moved slowly throughout the day.

After three hours, Hermione became somewhat discouraged. But at the fifth hour of her investigation, she found what she was looking for. Two feet above the commode, a grey and white streaked stone shimmered faintly with pink light as she viewed it from the vantage of her makeshift protractor. She smiled triumphantly.

"I knew it," she breathed. It felt so good to be right. Then Hermione blushed hotly as she realized that the stone had every view of the spigots that served as her shower. Pervert, she thought angrily of Malfoy. The view was actually rather limited beyond this, she deduced calculatingly. Her bed and the corner that housed the end of her chain certainly couldn't be seen. Why would that be? She examined the stone more carefully now. She pressed her body completely flat against the cold wall, squinting.

Ah, well, yes, she noted with some appreciation despite herself. From head on the stone seemed as uncharacteristic and flat as those surrounding it. But from this side view, she could clearly see that the stone bulged out at the edges, protruding beyond its neighboring flags. Very clever. So it could see the entire room, she thought sourly.

"Now what to do about you?" she asked herself. She sat on the edge of her bed, pensive.

If ever you discovered an espionage charm, Moody had lectured, use it to your advantage. Feed your enemy false information. Lie. Fabricate stories and plots to confuse them.

Well, thought Hermione. That was all well and good if maybe you had people to plot with, information to accidentally divulge. But Hermione didn't. There was nothing she had here that Malfoy couldn't otherwise get from her through force, and she certainly did not spend her days spouting off valuable information just to hear herself talk.

But she did have her privacy, and the thought of Lucius Malfoy watching her bathe, watching her sleep, watching her eat, made her turn crimson with embarrassment and anger. But how to handle it? She could no more remove and destroy a stone from the wall then she could levitate herself out of this dungeon.

She stood and paced her cell, chain jangling rhythmically with her steps. With interest, Hermione glanced down at the chain. She recalled that she had managed to dislodge her tiny stone pencil with this as her pestle. Well, then.

Hermione fisted some of the chain in her hands, bunching it up. She took some tentative steps toward the toilet. Typically the chain allowed her only just enough leeway to get to where she needed to go, but she was going to need more than that length to reach the charmed stone in the wall. She coiled another loop around her hand and made it to the corner without protest from the chain. Pleased, she climbed up onto the seat of the commode, eye level with the stone and chain in hand. With determined force, she wound up her arm and struck the rock as hard as she could with the chain.

Several things happened all at once. Firstly, she felt a jarring pain jolt up her arm as she made contact with the wall. Second, the chain seemed to sense she was abusing it, for it ripped itself from her hands, recoiling quick as a snake, knocking her from the toilet seat. Her head hit the porcelain of the toilet as she was dragged back to the opposite corner of the room, and Hermione's vision blackened as she passed out.

* * *

Lucius arrived just as the sun had set to the clearing. He pocketed the gold and red marble in ritualized fashion in an inner compartment of his robes. As he crossed the concealment charm to the clearing, he noted with some interest that he did not feel the chain activate itself as it usually did, nor did he hear the faint yelp of surprise in the distance from his captive.

He smirked. Was that little Mudblood already at her post then, patiently awaiting his arrival? What an obedient prisoner he had. With self-pleased arrogance he crossed the clearing to reach her door.

It was not evident to Malfoy until he descended into her room that something was wrong. Hermione was indeed in the proper corner of the room, but her body lie as still and lifeless as a corpse. With alarm Lucius swiftly surveyed the room, searching for threats. The cell was empty. Cautiously he approached the girl, checking for a pulse. Alive then, he surmised with an exhale of relief, withdrawing his fingertips from her carotid.

Cursing the near-darkness of the cell, Lucius transfigured Hermione's bar of soap and a thread of her blanket into a candle and lit it with his wand. Returning his attention to the unconscious girl in front of him, he turned her slowly onto her back. A gash to her left temple bled sluggishly.

"What in the name of Merlin did you do, you foolish girl?" Lucius seethed. With an uttered " _Tergeo_ ," the bleeding stopped altogether, scabbing over nicely. Lucius' eyes followed the trail of blood on the floor to the corner of the room that housed the toilet. There was a bright red smear, presumably where she had initially struck herself, on the corner of the toilet bowl. Raising his eyes upward, Lucius saw with a start that the fourth stone above the head was fractured in spindly star-shaped fissures, as if struck forcefully with a heavy object. Slowly the pieces of what likely happened clicked into place, although he was scarcely able believe it.

Lucius was impressed despite himself. The idea that the girl had thought to even look for an espionage charm was remarkable, let alone finding it and attempting to destroy it. In truth, Lucius hadn't even remembered that he had placed such a charm in this room, decades ago. And furthermore he hadn't thought the need to spy on this seemingly fragile and weak girl. Alas, he seemed to have underestimated her cleverness, which irritated him no end.

He turned his heel and glared uselessly at the girl beneath him, who hadn't stirred. He watched her breathing shallowly, her chest rising and falling as though she were merely asleep.

" _Ennervate_ ," he incanted, directing his wand directly at Hermione. A purple jet shot from his wand and entered Hermione's body, and her entire body seized as though electrocuted. She sat bolt upright, moaned loudly, and promptly vomited on the floor. She clutched her head, swaying back and forth from her cross-legged position on the floor. Lucius allowed her a moment's recovery before making his presence known to her.

"Girl," he bit out acerbically. Hermione lifted her head, the movement so fast that her eyelids fluttered shut momentarily and she steadied herself with both palms flat on the floor. Quite the concussion she had given herself, Lucius observed.

"M-Mister Malfoy," she gasped as though winded. She attempted to stand but was unable to, instead balancing herself on her knees, propped still by her hands. Her head hung low, limp.

What a picture she made, there on the floor. Kneeling so acquiescently before him. Out of courtesy to the both of them he banished the vomitus on the floor with an uttered " _Evanesco_."

"I see you have been attempting to destroy your room," Lucius taunted her languidly. From his view above her, he could see her frown angrily through tresses of her hair.

"Yes, well. You horrible depraved Death Eater," she seethed with more impudence than she had shown him in all twelve days here. Lucius raised an eyebrow at her but said nothing.

"Do you think that once I found out about your espionage charm that I would allow you to continue spying on me?" she hissed to him, clearly affronted and upset. "I only hope I broke the thing, you pervert." Her gaze looked past him to squint at her attempts to vitiate the charmed stone.

Lucius felt new anger bubble up inside him at this, realizing what she was thinking of him. His Pureblooded ego stung bitterly.

"Stupid Mudblood fool," he fumed, causing Hermione to flinch. He did not care. "Do you honestly think I would lower myself to watching _you_ ," and he spat the word with distaste, "for pleasure?" He gave a cold laugh. "How insulting."

Hermione blushed, but Lucius drove on, a cruel thought flitting through his mind. "Don't you think that if I wanted to, I could have you, any way I liked?" He watched her shudder, pleasure rippling through his own body at this reaction. "Why debase myself to watching you in secret when I could simply…do this?" He directed his wand at her chest, and she pressed herself against the wall for feeble protection.

" _Incarcerous_ ," he seethed. Thin cords ejaculated from the tip of his wand, and with a small shriek from Hermione, they entwined tightly about her wrists and ankles. With a swift levitation charm, Hermione was lifted bodily and flung onto the mattress of the bed, the ropes attaching themselves to each of the four corners of the bedposts. Hermione struggled against the bindings momentarily, and Lucius watched until her futile writhing ceased and she looked up at him with tearful eyes. Perfect.

Lucius stalked imposingly to the side of the bed, towering over the terrified girl. He smirked, enjoying the feeling of domination.

"Please," Hermione whispered, but then her terrified voice trailed off in a choked sob. Lucius lifted his wand in reply, and leveled it at her.

"Don't you think, _Hermione_ ," and he whispered the name, watching her shake uncontrollably, "that if I were at all interested in your body, that I could simply-" and with a practiced wave of his wand, her jumper unzippered itself, "take—" and he pressed a conjured invisible blade against Hermione's stomach, "what I wanted—" and he ripped the blade upwards, causing Hermione to scream in surprise or pain, her T-shirt slicing in cleanly in half down the front and a small thin line of blood appearing down the midline of her torso, "whenever I wanted it?"

Lucius directed the magical blade to rest just above the hem of her jeans. He watched Hermione pant in fear beneath him, tears streaking her face. Her tattered clothes slipped to the side, exposing her naked chest to him. Her cheeks were flushed with shame and anger. Lucius felt himself become aroused, and with that startling realization he stepped backwards from her, away from the bed.

"Don't you think if I had any possible inclination towards you," he sneered, "that I would have acted upon it already? It would be _so_ easy, Mudblood." Hermione bit back a sob, literally pursing her lips together to prevent sound from leaving them. She turned her head away from him, eyes shut tightly. A moment passed and he let her suffer through it in silence. Then,

"You promised," her voice, shaking and all but inaudible, surprised him.

"What was that girl?" he asked sharply. Hermione's eyes opened, and he could see that she used considerable strength of will to look him in the eye.

"You promised," she reiterated shakily, "that I would not come to unnecessary harm."

Lucius paused, having his own words thrown back at him. He sneered callously. "You thick, stupid witch," he said, "The lesson I am trying to teach you is that I would _never_ lower myself to engaging with you – through espionage or directly," he added in clarification. "Do not think so highly of yourself."

He turned and pointed to the fourth stone above the toilet. "Do not attempt to tamper with this cell again, or you will truly be sorry for it next time."

And with that, he ascended gracefully from the cell, slamming the door shut to the sound of the Mudblood girl quietly crying to herself behind him. It was only after he landed back in his study that he realized that he had quite forgotten about her food. Ah well, it wouldn't kill the girl to starve for a day, he thought irritably. He stalked off to find Narcissa to take care of his aching erection, the image of his subdued lioness spread-eagle on the bed burning in his mind.

* * *

Hermione remained pinned to the bed for hours before the binding spell released her. When she was finally free she relieved herself, cleaned her teeth and combed her hair with her fingers. She brushed fingertips gingerly over her scalp laceration, wincing with pain. She felt nauseous, but she couldn't tell if this was from her head injury or the humiliation and threats Malfoy had put her through.

She hardly slept at all that night. There was a steady rain that dripped and drizzled rhythmically into her cell, and created a damp coldness that made her head ache more and her muscles knot painfully.

When morning finally broke, she could hardly bring herself to get out of bed. It was nearly midday when she drew up enough energy to stand properly. She examined the cracked stone carefully. Likely all she had done was distorted a partial view of the stone's magicked lens. She cursed to herself for her failure, feeling defeated.

She didn't quite believe Malfoy's adamant declaration about watching her – or rather, about not watching her. She staunchly refused to shower that day; the type of dirtiness she felt would not come off in a shower in any case.

There was no help for her shirt without and needle and thread or a repairing charm. She wore it backwards so that the torn opening was at the back, and zipped her hoodie up tightly to preserve her body heat.

The day finally dragged on into night, and Hermione positioned herself by her bed. Her belly churned with hunger and twisted in anxiety and anticipation. She hated that Lucius' visits were simultaneously both the highlight and the most dreaded part of her day here. There was no denying that even Lucius' biting character was a preferable change to the social isolation she suffered otherwise. And there was similarly no denying that he was the hand that fed her, so to speak, and much like a trained dog she was physiologically attracted to this reward that came with his presence. But the mutual hatred and concrete hierarchy between the two of them, combined Hermione's fear of the unknown, made the visits equally unbearable as they were gratifying.

She waited, shifting her feet. The manacle about her ankle had finally chafed itself through the barrier of her skin, and the flesh was weepy and macerated, bleeding in spots no matter how Hermione cleaned and bandaged it with scraps of linen. The sting of pain as she shifting kept her occupied as she waited.

And waited.

She grew anxious as the moon rose high above her cell, pouring clear white light into the center of the room. Where was he? She began to pace. Was this her punishment? Starvation as payment for damaging his precious spy lens? She let out a growl of frustration, and her stomach echoed her in sympathy. She stopped and stared at the cracked stone above the toilet. She narrowed her eyes at it.

"I am sorry okay?" she huffed at it, feeling slightly foolish. "I won't try to break your precious rock again," she told said rock placatingly, "Now will you please bring me food? You forgot yesterday," she reminded. She tried not to show the stone how anxious she was at Malfoy's lack of appearance tonight.

"Who knows if you're even listening," she muttered, when nothing happened after several minutes.

At long last, Hermione surrendered herself to a second night of hunger, and put herself to bed, marking first the thirteenth day of captivity on the wall.

It was when Lucius failed to appear on the fourteenth day that Hermione began to panic.


	6. Chapter 6

Lucius apparated to the grassy clearing just the sun was about to set. He dragged himself through the concealment charm, limping slightly. The chain activated itself, and he heard the startled cry that signified Hermione was being pulled across the floor to her post. She was alive at least then, Lucius thought grimly. He hobbled across the field, the distance between the clearing's edge and the oaken trapdoor seeming impossibly far today. He was panting by the time he reached the prison, and with a trembling hand opened the magically locked door. His descent downwards was shaky and lacked its usual grace, and his knees buckled when he landed.

Lucius could hear Hermione's sharp intake of breath at his appearance, and for a moment neither said anything. Lucius balanced himself casually against the wall of the prison cell, trying hard to maintain nonchalance. He closed his eyes against a wave of dizziness.

"You came back," Hermione's whisper met his ears, disbelieving. Lucius opened his eyes and gazed at her. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her. Her eyes blinked back obvious tears, and she shook slightly from her corner position on the floor.

"I thought—" Hermione's voice broke. "I thought you'd – you'd died," she choked, tears running down her cheeks. Her relief was obvious.

Lucius raised an eyebrow.

"It would seem not, Mudblood," he retorted. "You'll live to see another day yet." He flourished his wand, conjuring a large bowl of restorative broth and bread aboard a wooden tray. The spell cost him some energy. The tray settled itself in the middle of the room, and he watched Hermione give the chain an experimental tug. It gave her leeway, and she all but dashed to the bowl.

"Eat slowly," Lucius cautioned, and Hermione's head bobbed in a nod. "It's been—" a sudden pang of pain from his side cut off his words and he became winded.

"Four days," Hermione completed for him, imbibing the soup cautiously. The first drink seemed to fortify her immediately, the magical broth bringing energy with its nutrition. She drank again, murmuring appreciation. Lucius gripped his side and slumped against the wall, closing his eyes.

"Lucius!" Hermione's panicked exclamation forced his eyes open again. His body had slid down the height of the wall and he was in a huddled pile on the floor. How distasteful, he thought vaguely. His vision was dimming in and out. He was aware of the sound of chiming chains, and the next he saw Hermione's anxious face was peering down at him.

"You _are_ hurt," she said, and he could hear the fear and concern in her voice. Small hands patted at his robes, seeking to find the wounds beneath them. She struggled with the knotted fastener at his chest. With sudden alacrity, Lucius whipped his arm upwards, gripping her forearm tightly.

"What do you think you are doing, Mudblood," he snarled at her. Hermione looked bemused.

"I am helping you," she replied simply, her face neutral. "Where are you hurt?"

Lucius' mind reeled. Helping _him_? This Mudblood? He stared at her.

"You have no business touching me, girl," he hissed. "And I certainly do not need help from you."

He could have sworn now that he knew the know-it-all look Draco complained of constantly. The girl sniffed.

"I think you do," she replied back to him, "Or you can prove me wrong and levitate yourself back out of this cell."

Lucius looked up at the far-away doorjamb, his vision tunneling slightly. He groaned and closed them against the sensation of vertigo.

"Hmm," replied the girl above him noncommittally. Her hands, soothingly cool, worked at the fastener again. She shrugged off the cloak with little effort on Lucius' part, and methodically untucked his shirt, checking each extremity first as she undressed it. Lucius watched her warily. She had done this before. Not to him of course, but the systematic cataloguing of wounds and the sight of battle scars was clearly not new to her.

Hermione exhaled sharply when she discovered the gash on his side just over his ribcage.

"This is really deep," she murmured, a note of anxiety in her voice. She immediately pressed the cloth back over it to staunch the bleeding. She looked up at his face, concern etched across her features.

"Did you try to heal yourself?" she asked. Lucius nodded.

"There are limitations to self-healing," he intoned tiredly. Hermione nodded, as if she already knew this. She glanced to his right hand, which held his wand in a white-knuckle grip.

"Do not even think of it, Mudblood," Lucius snapped. He tried to sit himself further upright. He glared at her. "If you so much as touch my wand, the chain will kill you in an instant." He shoved her away. Of course she would take this moment to try and escape. How could she not? It made him no less angry that she had made him vulnerable, seen him weak. He struggled to stand.

"No, I wasn't—I didn't," Hermione seemed to be fumbling for words. "Lucius please just sit _down_ , you will only hurt yourself more."

"Like you wouldn't rejoice, witch," he seethed at her. Hermione stood herself. Clearly that broth was too strong, Lucius reflected. He gripped his side with what strength he had left.

"I would not," she huffed at him. "Your existence is the only reason I continue to live. Should you die, I would too. Your life matters more to me now than ever, Mister Malfoy." She halted, wringing her hands. "Please, sit down. Let me help you."

Lucius considered her. She was either an exceptional liar, which thus far into their relationship she had proved rather terrible; or, she was being genuine. He weighed his options through the haze of pain and anemia. If she did take his wand, she would die, and he would be no worse off than he was now. He gave slight tilt of his head and collapsed again against the wall. Hermione was at his side in an instant again, buffering his descent to the ground again.

"We will just have to make do with Muggle methods," she murmured matter-of-factly. She stood and he listened, eyes shut, as the jingle of chains crossed the room to the bed. She returned to him with her sheet in hand. It smelled faintly of soap, the scent wafting up to Lucius' nostrils.

"Lucky I just washed this today, really," Hermione spoke more to herself. "Keep pressure on that wound if you can," she directed him, rolling up the sleeves of her jumper. Lucius could see in the waning light that her T-shirt was on backwards, and he remembered what he had done to her the last time he had seen her. He watched with some awe as this Muggle-born witch, despite all he had put her through, prepared herself to help him.

With little apparent difficulty, Hermione ripped the linen into long strips. These she wound efficiently into neat balls, until she had six rolls before her and a square of linen left over that she soaked thoroughly and then wrung out under the spigot of water. When she was ready, she turned to him.

"When you let go of that compress, you are going to hold this wet one in place," she instructed. "And you'll need to exhale a little, and hold it as long as you can." She raised questioning eyebrows to him, and he nodded his understanding.

"Okay then," Hermione breathed. Lucius noted that she did not seem at all nervous, and found this reassuring. "One, two, three!"

Lucius removed the sodden cloth of his shirt from the wound and Hermione swiftly placed the icy cold damp linen over his wound. He hissed, but at her encouragement and guiding hands, held the cloth in place and exhaled. Hermione moved quickly around him, wrapping her hands in a sort of hug about his midsection as she wrapped the dry clean linen about his torso. One, two, three, four times around she went before the cloth ran out. She continued with the second, third cloths.

"Okay, breathe," she said, and from her breathlessness Lucius could tell she had held her breath too to make sure the process wasn't unbearably long for him. He did so, feeling his midsection quite restricted of movement. Hermione was nodding satisfactorily, examining the patch directly over the wound, which already seemed to be slowing its blood flow. She took up one more roll of linen and bound it about him, tying it off tightly.

"The pressure of the bandage and the expansion of your ribcage should stop the bleeding fairly quickly," she explained in what sounded to Lucius like a trance. She was cleared zoned in on her work. Professionally, she checked over the rest of his body, using another linen roll to clean and bandage more minor lacerations on his forearm, and another to his thigh. Their proximity did not seem to bother her at all in this moment, and Lucius found he rather reciprocated the feeling.

"There," the witch said when she had finished. There was a light sheen of sweat on her forehead. She stood and retrieved the bowl of restorative broth.

"Drink," she ordered bossily of him. She must have seen the look of disgust on his face for she rolled her eyes. "Lucius, you must. You have lost a lot of blood. This is no blood-replenisher but if you hope to get better at all to at least get to a proper healer, you must eat. You can decontaminate yourself of me later," she added somewhat sarcastically.

Grudgingly, Lucius took the bowl and sipped. He felt almost immediately better for it, and took a long drink from the bowl. When he finished it was nearly empty, and he heard to his chagrin Hermione's stomach rumble impatiently at that moment. Hermione blushed.

"I'll, uh, just finish it with the bread then, shall I?" Hermione said, and Lucius nodded.

"I will bring you more tomorrow morning," he promised as he watched her eat cross-legged on the ground. This made her pause and swallow hard, suddenly not looking at him. He couldn't fathom why. Her body tensed, and he could see her mind working its way out of the calm reverie it had settled in during her ministrations to his person.

"What happened to you?" Hermione asked in a small voice. Her brow had the anxious crease to it that Lucius took to understand some foreboding. He shrugged, mind still somewhat hazy, belly full and warm with the restorative broth.

"I was attacked," he replied, as though this were sufficient.

"By Draco," Hermione responded immediately. Her voice now verged on panic. "It was him, wasn't it?" she asked.

"And how did you surmise this?" Lucius asked her, unnerved that she had guessed correctly.

"So I am right?" Hermione whispered. Lucius nodded. Hermione's breath hitched. "I thought as much," she whispered, eyes filling with tears. "I thought I recognized the cut of _sectum sempra._ " She paused.

" _For the good of my family. For the protection of what is mine,_ " she quoted. "You've found out haven't you? That Draco has helped us in the past?"

Lucius' eyes bored into hers. He nodded, and Hermione closed her eyes tightly.

"It is much more than that, Mudblood," he told her. He worked to keep the strain out of his voice. "Surely you must know, it is much more than that."

And for the first time, Lucius considered that perhaps Hermione did _not_ know of Draco's feelings towards her. That he was willing to throw away his entire livelihood, his family, his honor, for her. Could she possibly not even know that he loved her?

Hermione's blank stare was his answer.

"You stupid girl," he uttered, and she flinched. They spoke no more. It was an incredibly awkward hour, spent down in the frigid cell as Lucius waited for the restoring potion to summon enough strength to leave. Hermione had curled up on her bed, lying still under the lumpy blanket he had conjured for her. That seemed ages ago, now. The damp cold of the cell was just bordering on unbearable by the time Lucius stood to leave. His side ached but on the whole he was far better off than when he had arrived to this dismal place.

"Wait," Hermione called to him as he was about to ascend to the ground above.

"Yes?" He lifted an eyebrow toward her. He had been sure she was asleep. Hermione fidgeted with a frayed thread of the blanket.

"Tomorrow when you come," Hermione started, her eyes looking determinedly at the thread, "Will…will you hurt me? Again? For Draco?" The questions ended in a whisper that plainly conveyed her fears.

"Yes," Lucius replied. He felt anger towards himself that he felt regret at this. But this is what must be done. There was no other way, he reiterated firmly in his head. Draco must know this, must realize the consequences.

Hermione had shrunk away from him in the corner of her bed, and he could see her body shaking with the effort not to cry. He sighed.

"You have survived today, Mudblood. Take solace in that, and sleep." He leveled his wand at her. " _Somnium._ " And Hermione's body slumped into an immediate slumber. Rubbing his brow tiredly, Lucius exited the cell and left.

* * *

When Hermione awoke the next day it was to the voice of Lucius Malfoy's _Ennervate_ spell. Memories of last night flooded her mind, and her heart dropped sickeningly as she remembered why Malfoy was here today. She scrambled out of bed, bleary-eyed but heart pattering quickly against her chest. Her head swam dizzily, with lack of adequate nutrition to feed it.

As Lucius came into focus, she noted that he looked significantly better this morning. Or was it afternoon? She glanced up at the beam of light above. Afternoon then, she thought. Lucius stood tall above her wearing his mask of indifference, perfectly well-groomed and well-dressed again today. There was no sign that he had been mortally wounded last night, and Hermione concluded that he had indeed seen a healer.

"You will drink this first," Lucius indicated the bowl of now-familiar restorative broth on the ground. Hermione nodded, but her hands shook so badly with trepidation that Malfoy knelt to help her steady the dish as she drank. There was a kind of unspoken intimacy between the two of them today. She nearly choked on the first swallow, but then was able to tolerate most of the rest. It was almost with gentle touch that Lucius led her to the corner of the cell that housed the shower spigot and drain.

"Lie down," he reminded her softly. Hermione did so, trembling all over and crying. The anticipation of knowing what was coming was nearly worse than she remembered. She covered her face in her hands.

Lucius banished her clothes, and Hermione instinctively curled into a ball on the floor. Before she had time to be properly embarrassed though, the pain set in and she knew nothing more.

* * *

It was so much worse this time, reflected Lucius later that day. Maybe it was her incredibly weakened state. Maybe it was because she had just helped heal him the night before and he felt annoyingly indebted to her. But either way, by the time he lifted the curse he was so moved by her pathetically writhing form on the ground that he could no longer maintain the force of will that the curse demanded.

It ought to do, at any rate. Carefully, he extracted the memory and deposited it into a tear-drop shaped ceramic vial. A porta-penseive that was just barely big enough to contain one memory. He strode from his room in the manor down the long hallway, pocketing the vial as he went. To his surprise, Bellatrix emerged from Narcissa's dressing room as he passed by.

"Bellatrix," he greeted stiffly. His sister-in-law turned and grinned toothily at him.

"Luuucius," she called, drawling out his name. "Cissy and I were just talking about you!"

"Oh yes?" Lucius purred, lifting an eyebrow skeptically. "And what of me?" he asked. Bella's eyes bulged outwards and her grin broadened.

"One Malfoy secret for another Malfoy secret?" she asked imploringly. "You never did tell me you know. I want to know your little secrety secret Lucius."

"Bellatrix," Lucius sighed, putting on his best air of haughty indifference, "For the last time, I have no secret, least of all one I would keep from my own wife." And he narrowed his gaze at her.

"And what of you, Bella? What secrets are you keeping from us? Have you told the Dark Lord yet of your failed attack on Grimmauld Place?" Bella's look of anger and fear made him sneer. "No I thought not. Still thinking of a good cover story are you?" He pressed further, enjoying her discomfort as much as he was relieved to distract her. "If I were you Bella, I'd confess sooner rather than later. Even the teacher's pet wouldn't escape the Dark Lord's fury if he's been lied to."

Bellatrix made a huffing, sort of strangled sound, and she raised her wand at him.

"Now, now Bella," Lucius said smoothly. He cut past her, seemingly indifferent to the threat of her wand. "We don't want the Dark Lord to find we've turned on each other now, do we?" He continued his stroll down the corridor. "Now, if you'll excuse me." And he exited the hallway to Bellatrix's baleful stare and muttered threats.

Lucius ended his journey at the manor's private owlery. Gesturing to the largest owl, he fasted the vial to its leg. "Take this directly to my son," he crooned to the bird perched on his forearm. "Today. Deliver it safely to him no matter the hour."


	7. Chapter 7

Hermione's compensation for enduring this round of the cruciatus curse was more precious to her than the warmth of her heavy blanket. Lucius had felt magnanimous enough to give her a book. _Hogwarts, a History_ , as it happened. He was clearly pleased with whatever outcome her torture had led to. Hermione contented herself to reading as she recuperated in her bed, thumbing reverently through each page. She held on to each word like a lifeline to what felt like a distant past. Each chapter marked a memory she'd shared with Ron, with Harry, with herself at Hogwarts. She let her mind float through happier times as her body thrummed in its current state of post-curse pain.

She'd finished the tome by the next day and was re-starting chapter one in the fading light of dusk when Lucius arrived. He eyed the book held close to her chest as she stood leaning tiredly into her corner, waiting for him.

"Finished already," he remarked, nodding to the finger poked into the pages to hold her new place.

"I like reading," Hermione shrugged. Her grip tightened on the book as a thought crossed her mind – would he take it away from her, now that she'd finished? Her heart sank in her chest as she thought of more bleak days ahead with nothing to stimulate her mind.

"What is the matter now girl?" Lucius startled her from her reverie and she almost dropped her treasure. Her disappointment must have shown on her face.

"I, uh.." she fumbled. Lucius raised an eyebrow. Hermione blushed.

"I was just…wondering when you'd need me to return it," she muttered quietly. How could this man understand what this book meant to her?

There was a pause as Lucius considered her. He snorted softly.

"I would not ever touch that after a Mudblood such as you had defiled it." He was attempting a sneer, but Hermione's obvious joy softened the insult. She all but grinned a him, hugging the book to her ribs.

"Thank you," she told him, and meant it. Hermione winced as a particularly painful electric jolt whizzed down her arm from the base of her neck.

"Merlin, but these curse aftershocks are awful," she commented as massaged the arm with one hand, balancing the book precariously in the crook of her elbow.

"It will fade in a matter of days," replied Lucius tonelessly, supplying information Hermione already knew from experience. She nodded.

"May I sit please?" she asked, gesturing to bed out of reach on her short leash. Lucius nodded and released the chain's spell. Hermione sighed as she felt the iron relinquish its grip on her, the rush of life come back to her a welcome wave of warmth. She sat on the edge of the bed, dangling her feet over the side of the mattress. She swung them back and forth gently.

"I'm so tired," she said softly. She set _Hogwarts, a History_ down next to her and stroked the cover thoughtfully. "It's different than last time." She met Lucius' eyes. She meant the curse. "Not…worse, really. But I am different. It is changing me." She furrowed her brow in confusion, not fully grasping what was happening to her and not being able to explain it better. Lucius raised an eyebrow at her.

"Sorry," Hermione said reflexively. "I don't meant to babble. I'm just so lonely." Her face shadowed, eyes crinkling sadly. "How much longer, Lucius?" she asked, voice trailing to a whisper. "How much longer will you keep me here?"

Another jolt of electric pain singed down her neck, and she gasped, rubbing the spot fervently.

The Death Eater shrugged, unmoved. "As I said before, Mudblood. As long as is necessary."

"What does that mean? Days? Months? A lifetime?" Her voice broke. "I'll die here." Her breath hitched at the thought.

"Perhaps," Lucius replied. "But not until I allow you to. And that, girl, will be a long way off." His reply wasn't meant to be reassuring.

"You are already killing me," Hermione whispered in reply. "This place….this cell….I feel like I am dying."

"And yet you here you are, alive and breathing before me."

Hermione shook her head.

"No," she told him. "No, I am _suffocating_ , Lucius. I cannot breathe here. I cannot stay in this place. Please, you cannot keep me here. I want to go outside, I want to see daylight, to feel the grass, to smell the wind. Please," and she faltered in her plea. "Please, let me out."

She didn't dare say that she wanted so desperately to feel human touch, to have her friends envelope her in their arms, to enjoy the sensation of Ron's kiss. Her heart was breaking enough as it was.

Lucius was silent.

"Please, Lucius."

* * *

He wasn't sure why he did it. Perhaps it was her fragile form pleading so desperately before him that swayed him. Perhaps it was because he too found the cell's dampness oppressive. Could he have perhaps felt sorry for the Mudblood? No, he banished that thought from his mind. Hermione Granger was a manipulative minx. A tool to be used to win the war, and more importantly, to control his son. There was no point in feeling anything towards her but revulsion.

But no matter the reasoning, Lucius found himself promising the Mudblood girl that he would return the next afternoon, and that she would be allowed to go outside. That night, her pale face lit with pure joy and gratitude haunted his dreams.

As he stepped through the blood barrier to Hermione's clearing the next day, he replayed their interaction from yesterday.

" _It's different than last time….I am different. It is changing me."_

Damaged, Lucius thought. The word she had been looking for was damaged. Irrevocably, and by his hand. He could see it in her face, in the dull reflection of her eyes, the slumping posture of her shoulders. She was not wrong when she had told him she felt she was dying. In a way, she was.

Perhaps that was why he agreed to this, he reassured himself as he approached the heavy oaken door to her cell. Because she _was_ dying, mentally if not physically, and it was his job to keep her alive.

"The chain stays on," Lucius told her as he watched her lean against the corner of her cell. He ignored the twinge of sympathy as he watched her obvious excitement push through the heavy fatigue the powerful chain levied on her body. She nodded exuberantly at him, smiling.

"I will lengthen it and lessen some of its strength," he continued. "But be warned Miss Granger, one disobedient misstep and I will have it drag you back underground and sap the life from you until you can hardly breathe." He glared dangerously at her. "Have I made myself clear?" A more timid nod this time was her response, the smile gone.

"How long?" she asked him. "How long will I have?"

"Until dusk," he replied. He had specifically cleared his afternoon schedule for this. Hermione's smile returned full force, and he turned away in disgust.

When he levitated her out from her prison, he was vaguely surprised to note she had brought her blanket. He watched as she took in her surroundings with wide eyes.

"No wonder its so chilly here," she remarked, spinning around to view the entire clearing. "We are in the mountains."

"Five points," Lucius awarded her. "How did you construe that?" There were no appreciable views of a valley below nor of the summit above, and he resisted the temptation to feel impressed at her deduction.

Hermione smiled. "You forget I once traveled the wilderness," and a shadowed look crossed her face briefly before she forced the smile back.

"The height of the trees, the bend in their trunks from the wind, the rocky outcropping just there—" and she pointed to said ledge – "and the general slope of the land." She shrugged. "And the temperature, of course." She faltered then, as if she had said something wrong, and blushed.

"Hmm," replied Lucius, stepping towards her. "Should you have needed warmer clothes before this, Mudblood, you had only to ask." He enjoyed the moment as she hugged the blanket to herself, disconcerted and cleared nervous about their proximity and his dominance. She took a step backwards, not meeting his eyes.

"I wasn't sure how far you'd extend generosity to a prisoner," she muttered.

"And you too proud to beg for it," Lucius reveled in toying with her. His stubborn little lioness. Her blush deepened prettily, but a long silence was his answer nonetheless. Finally he sighed, bored of the standoff.

"Nevermind, girl," he told her silkily. "I will have robes for you tomorrow. I'll not have you freeze to death. Look at me," and he used his wandtip to bring her chin up. Fearful brown eyes met his.

"You suffer by my intent only, not my negligence." Lucius chose his words carefully, meaning them. He held her frozen for a moment before he released her. She stumbled back a step before catching her balance.

"Now go," he said smoothly. "The entirety of the field is yours this afternoon. Do not go beyond the tree line." Hermione nodded. She turned and shook the blanket out, letting it float down to the ground. Then, hesitantly, with an anxious glance in his direction, she took her first timid steps into the field.

Lucius watched her go. As she explored her new territory she gained some vigor, clearly feeling the ebbing power of the chain. Lucius found that her stark white skin clashed painfully with the surrounding greenery, the dark circles under her eyes shining hideously like bruises. Her jeans drooped slightly from her hips, and she occasionally hitched them back up with her thumb.

More food, Lucius noted. She was underfed. Another negligence on his part.

He sighed and settled himself against a tree, arms folded in front of his chest, watching her prowl the edges of her forested cage. Every couple minutes she would shoot him a look, as if afraid he would change his mind about this excursion at any moment. Let her, he thought. She should be reminded of his authority, his absolute power.

After awhile, Lucius closed his eyes, allowing his other senses to monitor the girl. The chain clinked with every step she took, and Lucius wished he didn't find it so irritating to hear. As if reading his mind, the chime of the chain suddenly stopped. Lucius' eyes snapped open, alert. But it was of nothing. The girl had crouched to the ground, examining some ferny leaf or other that sprouted from it. He relaxed.

Much of the afternoon was spent this way, with Hermione plucking at greenery and exploring every inch of the clearing. Well, almost, Lucius conceded. She did not ever wander near the aperture of her cell, and he clearly saw that she avoided looking at it too.

At long last, and with a bouquet of herbs in hand, Lucius watched the girl flip over the blanket, exposing the underside to the bright afternoon light.

"Sunlight is an excellent disinfectant," she told him absently as he approached her.

"Hmm," Lucius replied dubiously. As he had only ever needed the use of a cleaning spell, he didn't know much about Muggle cleaning theories.

"It is," the girl insisted, "Heat and light prevent growth of mold."

"And what of the dirt you've laid the blanket down upon?" He couldn't help but sneer. "You Mudbloods. Filthier by the minute." He watched Hermione bite her lip, clearly holding back a rebuttal.

He removed his wand from its holder and watched her flinch bodily in response. Her eyes fixated on the black wood; her breathing quickened audibly.

"What—"

Lucius didn't bother to wait for her to ask. " _Scourgify_ ," he incanted, and the blanket shook itself free of debris.

"Oh," said Hermione, breathless with relief. Lucius snorted and levitated it back into her cell, settling it neatly on the bed.

"Thank you," Hermione told him. Lucius didn't return the pleasantry.

"What do you intend to do with those?" he asked her, gesturing to her pile of leaves, stems, flowers and twigs she had accrued.

"I used to like to take inventory of the flora where we camped," Hermione told him, a small smile on her face as she remembered this pastime. "So I could learn a bit about the ecology," she explained. When he didn't respond, she continued, "I used to refer to Phyllida Spore's _One Thousand Magical Herbs_ and Billious Barnaby's _Botany for Beginners_ for accuracy, but…." She shrugged. "I think I have most of it memorized anyway."

She was not bragging, Lucius noted. In fact, if anything she looked irritated at herself for not memorizing the entirety of the two tomes. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Insufferable know-it-all indeed, he thought, echoing the sentiments of his son.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent with Hermione systematically categorizing and organizing her pile of greenery by leaf shape, size, vein pattern and stem diameter. Lucius watched her at first with interest and then with boredom. He was relieved when the sun finally began to set. It was a cold sunset, lacking the brilliant colors seen on lucky days. Soft yellows and blues penetrated through the leaves of the trees, dancing against the shadows on the ground. Hermione was watching it reverently, and he found watching her face to be much more alluring than the sunset itself. When the sun finally sank behind the mountain's forest, her face fell with it, and for a long moment he allowed her to stare mournfully off into the distance.

What would she do now, he wondered idly. Would she attempt to resist him? Fight off her return to her cell? Beg? The idea was entertaining to think about, how easily he'd force her back underground.

But she didn't. Her small frame turned towards him and she shifted her feet, chain chinking softly.

"Thank you," she said for the second time this afternoon, so quietly he almost missed it. "Thank you for today."

Lucius left her in the dungeon, an extra sandwich on her tray tonight. As he closed the heavy oaken door behind her, he could just make out the sound of soft crying.


	8. Chapter 8

It turned out that Hermione's afternoon of freedom wasn't her last. Two days later, Lucius returned late afternoon and allowed her out again before dusk. Lucius decided that he rather enjoyed watching her at sunset, the freckled light upon her features as she gazed off into the distance. They didn't talk much; there wasn't anything to say. She was his prisoner, and he her keeper, torturer, and savior. This power was tantalizingly sweet, Lucius thought as he watched Hermione. She sat in the middle of her field, hugging her knees to her chest, eyelids half-closed as she drank in the pleasure of the last rays of warmth from the sun.

Lucius allowed his eyes to travel her form up and down lazily. His eyes rested on her manacled ankle, and he frowned at the harsh iron biting against her skin. Her new robes touching the ground, her jeans crinkled up higher with her legs akimbo, he could see that her pale skin was red and angry around the incarcerated ankle. Anger simmered in Lucius' own chest. How dare she not tell him of this. Hadn't he made himself clear, over and again?

He saved his ire for after he had levitated her back down into her prison cell. He allowed the chain to tether her at full force to her corner. She looked blearily up at him, fighting hard through the chain's immense power.

"Lucius, what…" she could hardly finish her sentence.

"Did I not make myself clear?" snarled Lucius. He couldn't fathom why he felt so strongly about this. "You suffer only by my intent, Mudblood, _not_ my negligence."

He advanced upon her, and she shrunk her body into the wall behind her. Her head bobbed in the effort to keep it upright.

"Please, I don't—" she whispered, and Lucius noted the panic her voice, "I don't understand. What did I do?"

The eyes that had been so full of wonder and peace at the setting sun were suddenly filled with tears and uncertainty, fear that Lucius drank in like a powerful elixir.

He gripped her calf tightly, dragging it out and under her. She yelped and scooted towards the wall, writhing away from him.

He ignored her and focused on her flesh beneath him. It was worse up close than it was from afar. He could tell from the fibers clinging to the manacle that she had tried to wrap the iron circle in what precious cloth she could spare to lessen the friction. To no avail, he surmised. The flesh was macerated and weeping, shining with decay. It bled sluggishly in a few areas, crusted yellow in others.

This could have turned ugly, Lucius appreciated.

"This could have become septic," he growled at her. Hermione flinched below him.

"I thought I was handling it well enough on my own," she retorted, her quavering voice belying brave words.

"You might have died if you let this go on," he snarled, grip tightening on her calf. She flinched in discomfort.

"Like you would have cared," she protested weakly. Lucius' mind reeled, furious.

"You, stupid Mudblood," he seethed, "live and die by _my_ hand, _my_ desire, _mine_!"

"Lucius, please stop," Hermione pleaded. "Please, it hurts."

Lucius looked down. His had had slipped from mid-calf to just above her ankle, gripping the angry wounded flesh. Her blood trickled over his fingers, and he withdrew his hand immediately, regarding it in distaste. He cast a quick _Tergeo_ to rid himself of the dirty blood.

Deep breathing distracted him from his instinctual revulsion, and his eyes diverted to the girl beneath him.

"Lucius please," she said. "Please." He watched her face, which was full of consternation. He looked at her consideringly.

"I thought this was part of the image you record when you….when you…torture me." Her face flushed, and Lucius appreciated how ingenuous this girl truly was. That bothered him more than he cared to admit.

"I thought you liked to see me suffering," Hermione whispered through shaky breaths. Her eyes would not meet his.

Lucius sighed, and eased up the power of the magical chain. Hermione reacted in a startled gasp, breathing hugely as though she had just surfaced an ocean. He waited a moment to let her regain composure. She wrapped the heavy robes tighter around her midsection, hugging herself as she studied the floorspace between them.

"Miss Granger, I will not allow such danger to come to your person without my permission. You might have died if this continued to fester. You _will_ tell me of such things from now on."

Lucius watched her intently bite her lip, her nostrils flared. She remained silent. What had he stirred in his little lioness, he wondered, reveling in her brief show of spirit.

"Something you wish to say, Miss Granger?" he inquired loftily.

Hermione still refused to meet his eyes, and she shook her head minutely. Lucius found he couldn't resist.

" _Imperio_ ," he whispered to her, and she gasped in surprise as the spell hit her.

"Now, Miss Granger, look at me," he purred. She acquiesced immediately, swinging her head up, brown eyes locked upon his. Her face was placidly blank, but he could see her body shake with an effort to throw off his curse. He layered it on more thickly, and her quivering subsided.

"That's better," he told her. "Now tell _me_ , girl. Just what would you like to say?"

"You're being impossibly unfair," Hermione bit out quickly. "How am I supposed to know what is intentional, what is necessary to your warped mind, and what is pure negligence?" She ranted on, and Lucius settled himself backwards to enjoy the rest of the spitfire's performance.

"This isn't exactly a five-star hotel," Hermione seethed. "Oh – that's _muggle_ for supreme accommodations, you ignorant _Pureblood_." And she spat the word with such distaste that Lucius found his own mannerisms reflected for an instant on her delicate features.

"So shall I tell you of my other woes here?" Hermione continued. "I haven't had a change of clothes in almost three weeks. I am _tired_ of eating the same food every day yet still feeling starved, and I would like an actual _bath_ , you know, with soap and shampoo. I feel dirty and damp constantly. I ache and hurt everywhere. The solitary confinement here is driving me _insane –_ is that part of your plan?" Her voice cracked hysterically.

"Malfoy, I haven't _felt_ the touch of another person in _weeks._ I've no one to talk to, nothing to do here but wait for until you deign to visit me. I am terrified that at any moment I might be subject to the _cruciatus_ cure, or worse. I am going insane in this cell. It is _killing_ me!"

Lucius ended the curse before she could continue her rampage. Hermione's features fell immediately, and she shrank back against the corner. She was wide-eyed with hate and fear.

"I—" and she caught herself in what Lucius knew was an instinctual apology. She cleared her throat. "I will not apologize for that," she told him decidedly. "I wouldn't have said any of it, had you not forced me." But her chin quivered nonetheless, Lucius saw. She was afraid of his reaction, he knew.

My brave little lioness.

Lucius allowed himself a long moment to examine his wand, twirling it slowly between his fingertips. Hermione's breath hitched in anticipation, and he smiled inwardly at her distress. Finally, he decided she had tortured herself long enough with her imagination that he relented.

"Give me your leg, girl," he intoned, extending his arm out to her. She complied, hesitant. She watched him warily, like an injured animal. His caged lioness.

He gripped the back of her calf firmly and aimed his wand at the injured skin surrounding the ankle. She hissed as he performed an intense cleansing spell, which he knew from experience felt like firewhiskey on raw flesh. But she didn't struggle or attempt to free her leg. He could hear her breathing slowly, intently, through her nostrils. Pink skin blossomed under his ministrations, healing and new. He wrapped it with a conjured gauze, and after a moment of thought added a leather padding to her manacle.

When he was finished, he looked up into her face. She hadn't moved during his entire ministrations, and she sat as if frozen before him now.

"Good girl," he praised her, and released her leg. She hugged it to herself, eyes watching him. No, he corrected, her eyes were watching his wand. Such fear, such obedience. It was all so alluring.

Lucius cleared his throat to reset his pretense, and she flinched at the noise. He ignored her and summoned her tray of food. The same as usual, plus the additional sandwich. He could care less about her other complaints, he told himself.

Five-star indeed.

* * *

Hermione scratched day twenty-one into her tally count and sighed. It had been four days since Lucius had healed her ankle, and in that time they'd said almost nothing to each other. He never punished her for her coerced outburst; never mentioned it, even. And nothing changed. She was still in her same worn clothes, in the same lonely cell, with the same nightly visitor. She hadn't been allowed outside again, and she found the confinement of her airless oubliette to be more suffocating than ever. The long silence of the days was driving her mad.

She thumbed idly through _Hogwarts, a History_ , reading again through her favorite parts of the castle's creation just following the era of A.M.C. – After Magical Conception. The ancient runes and even hieroglyphics that went into the foundation of the school were a fascinating account of primitively powerful protective enchantments. As her fingers traced the outline of one such circular depiction, an idea flitted lazily through her mind. It took her a moment to fully grasp what she was planning, and she sat upright with sudden alacrity she hadn't felt for ages. She focused on the intricate diagram in her book. Then at the chipped piece of stone in her hand.

Well, she thought, it was worth a try. Better than sitting and doing nothing, at any rate.

With weakened strength, she shoved the bed to the middle of her cell. Then, kneeling where it had once stood, she took up her crude pencil and began to draw.

She took her time about it, checking and double checking the book's diagram of the runes, remeasuring angles and line thicknesses. She bit her bottom lip and rolled it between her teeth in concentration, an old habit. If she was going to attempt casting a protective spell against Lucius, she damn well was going to put every effort into it to make it perfect.

She knew from her studies of ancient runes that they required some amount of prayer – the original manipulation of magical power before wands and spells were invented. Which was as well, since she couldn't use modern magic with the wretched chain holding her back.

She did glance uncertainly at her manacle every now and again, anxious that it would pick up on her illicit behavior. But it didn't seem to mind, and after nearly an hour of worry Hermione's anxiety subsided. She focused intently on the organization of the runes into their intricate circular pattern. Her fingernails and knuckles scraped against the stone floor as she fought to maintain purchase on her tiny writing utensil. She changed some of the symbols to match the current date – as best she could estimate – and her current location – as best she could estimate.

She had finished her scratchwork just as dusk was settling, and she hurriedly pulled the bed back over her drawing before Lucius arrived. Fervently, she clasped her hands together and said a quick prayer, sitting cross-legged on the bed. She had never been very religious, but she poured all her energy into her prayer nonetheless.

"Please, goddesses," she chanted, figuring she would address any and all who might be listening. "Please, save me from evil. Surround me with your divine ring of protection; encompass me with your strength. I ask that you protect my mind, my body, my spirit. Please," she added again in a whisper. "I commit all things to your hands. Save me."

She added a brief thanks at the end, unsure if gods cared about such pleasantries but figuring it couldn't hurt.

With profound timing, the chain reeled her into her corner.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Please leave a review to let me know what you think of the story's progression so far. Have a wonderful day!

Cheers,

E-A


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